It's A Tradition
by valkyrie-alex
Summary: Slash VR. Sometimes you have to live with your mistakes. Sometimes you get a second chance.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I own nothing and do not claim to be making money off of this. Please don't sue me. I'm very new to the series and so any mistakes are my own...please feel free to correct me.

* * *

Virgil Hawkins had a tradition.

This was not a particularly startling revelation, as this time of year was rife with them. He had many of the usual ones as well—he gathered 'round the tree with friends and family to exchange presents, he went to morning services, and lit the Kwanzaa candles with Pop and Sharon. He drank eggnog and spent way too much money, and generally got his Christmas on in a serious way. This though, this particular tradition was special.

He strode down the hallway, smiling at faces he recognized and nodding politely to those he didn't. His usual plastic grocery bag of goodies swung by his side, occasionally bumping his thigh. The glasses inside clinked musically with each bump. Some people might have found the long, gleaming hallway confusing but he had walked it so many times, it was second nature.

After only a few minutes, he reached his destination, and slipped through the door without knocking. He set the plastic bag down on a handy chair and removed his black leather jacket and bright red scarf, a gift from Sharon this year. A soft smile graced his features as he turned toward the main part of the room, and the only other occupant.

"Hey man, sorry I'm late this year. Flash was at some Christmas party, and he was late relieving me." He peeled his gloves off and dropped them on top of the jacket, then scooped his bag up and crossed the room. Still smiling, he dropped a kiss on the other occupant's forehead. "Don't worry…I'm off Christmas rotation next year, Batman promised. Even if I wasn't, I wouldn't miss this."

As he spoke, Virgil began unpacking the bag. The glasses came out first, followed by a carton of store-bought eggnog. Beneath that were two Tupperware plates of food, the fragrance of which was already making his mouth water. Finally, a slightly crushed bouquet of fresh flowers and a few brightly wrapped packages were placed with loving care next to the eggnog, for later.

"Sharon's on some kind of 'made from scratch' kick this year. Damned if it isn't good stuff, too. She said to tell you she's sorry she couldn't make it this year. The baby came down with an awful cold, so she and Adam are staying in. Pops said he'd drop by later, after the kids are in bed. Man, you wouldn't believe how crazy he gets…like being 'Gramps' is the best thing that ever happened to him. We sure never got that many presents when we were kids."

Virgil prattled on about various things as he set up their traditional Christmas dinner on the small table. When the eggnog had been poured, he sat down in his traditional extremely uncomfortable chair, and spent his traditional few seconds just drinking in the sight of his companion.

There were not a great many constants in his life. His family, his role as Static, and later his standing in the Justice League…all were immeasurably important. There had been one other constant though, one other person that touched his life and his heart in a deeper way than he had words to express. He had sat at this very table more times than he could count, and shared the secrets of his soul with the person opposite of him—his elation at becoming a full fledged member of the League, the joys and frustrations and fears that being a superhero heaped on him, his heartbreak and regret as his marriage failed before it had even really begun, and his sorrow and relief that no children had come from that short union to share his grief. He knew that here was the only place where he would ever feel total acceptance, total peace.

Gently, he lifted warm fingers in his own hand and squeezed, wishing to convey with that small pressure all the love he felt. "Merry Christmas, Rich," he whispered softly.

The beeping of the heart monitor was his only answer.

Virgil set the lax hand of his dearest friend back down on the stark white blankets of his hospital bed and leaned back in the too hard chair. The dinner Sharon had packed sat on the small table beside the chair, no longer appetizing in the least. It would sit, congealing on the plates, as it always did, until Virgil got up to leave, when he would throw the whole mess away. He never actually ate any of it…he wasn't even sure why he brought it every year. Maybe it made him feel better, to see some evidence of family and caring in the cold, sterile hospital room. Maybe it made him feel a little more like he was visiting a sick friend, rather than holding what was essentially a death watch. Maybe there was still some part of him that hoped that this time, Richie would miraculously wake up to share it with him.

Stupid of him, he knew, but he couldn't help it.

Richie had spent seven of the ten years since…since he got hurt in this private hospital in upstate New York. The best doctors in the country made their rounds on the floors, and there was no better care available. All of it gave the same prognosis, though. Advanced vegetative state. Brain dead. It boiled down to one thing: his beloved friend was never going to wake up.

Those ten years had seen his once vibrant friend waste away to a mere shadow of a human being—a living skeleton kept alive by dozens of machines that forced his body to work. His eyes were grotesquely sunken into his skull, his hair was thinning and baby-fine, and all of his muscle tone had withered so that he looked more like a child than a man. He hovered in a shadow world between life and death, and as much as Virgil dreaded the day when Richie's body finally gave out for good, he couldn't help but think that they all should have let him go long ago. Richie's parents had refused to sign a DNR order, though, allowing their son to be kept alive through artificial means. A constant war raged in Virgil's heart over that, and he didn't envy the Foleys the choice they had been faced with.

Virgil was a near constant fixture in Richie's room, known by nearly all of the staff. He came whenever his schedule would allow (and sometimes when it wouldn't) and stayed for hours at a time. He talked to Richie about everything, read to him, played music for him, and each second was sheer torture. Sometimes he wondered how many times a heart could break before it couldn't mend itself again. He couldn't leave Richie alone, there, though, cut off from the world. The doctors told him that there was no chance Richie could hear him, or understand what was going on around him, but Virgil couldn't take that chance. If there was even the smallest part of Richie still residing in that shattered shell, Virgil had to let him know that he wasn't alone, he wasn't forgotten.

Christmas visits were always the hardest, though.

He came on Christmas Eve every year without fail to share his lonely tradition with his friend. Richie's parents would be there the next day, but no one ever interrupted Virgil's visits. At least, not usually… Virgil turned his head towards the door to Richie's room as it creaked open, and a young nurse slipped through. She was wheeling a cart in, singing softly to herself.

"Merry Christmas, darling. We're apart, that's true. But I can dream, and in my dreams, I'm Christmas-ing with you—oh! Gracious, I didn't know there was anyone here!" The nurse jumped as she turned around and realized Virgil was sitting in the chair. One slim hand went to her chest, and her eyes widened comically. Virgil didn't recognize her from any of his previous visits—she was only a few years older than him, a very pretty Asian-American woman. The nametag on her uniform identified her as Faith Ng, RN. "It's a bit late for visiting hours, isn't it?" she asked, wheeling her laundry cart further into the room.

"I've got an arrangement," Virgil murmured as politely as possible. The regular staff knew to leave him alone when he came, recognizing how much he cherished his time with their patient. "You can page Dr. Kelley if you want to check."

"Oh wait, you must be Mr. Hawkins. I apologize. Linda told me all about you—I traded shifts with her so she could be home with her husband for Christmas. First time in five years he's managed to get the holiday off. I'm Faith." The nurse smiled serenely at him and offered her hand.

"Virgil." He shook her hand briefly and went back to staring at Richie's face while she bustled around the room, checking the chart at the foot of Richie's bed and adjusting the IV drips.

"Holidays are joyful, always something new. But every day's a holiday, when I am with you. Oh the lights on my tree, I wish you could see. I wish it every day." She started singing again as she worked, and the slow, melancholy song sounded even sadder in the surroundings. Virgil suddenly reached out and took Richie's hand again, not caring what the nurse thought of the gesture. "It's good that you care so much," Nurse Faith said suddenly, interrupting her carol.

"Hmm? Sorry?"

"It's good that you care enough for him to be here. I don't care what these doctors say; I think they know when someone cares for them. Sometimes it can help them fight their way back." She smiled brightly and went around to the opposite side of Richie's bed, where she set about fluffing the pillow behind his head a bit, and smoothing the blankets down.

"He's not going to wake up," Virgil said flatly. "Everyone says there's no hope."

"Then why are you here?"

"What?"

"If there's no hope, why do you keep coming?" The nurse stared hard at him over Richie's insensate body; and there was something in her gaze that suddenly made Virgil uncomfortable.

"He's…he's my best friend," he muttered defensively, not at all sure why he was feeling defensive.

"Best friend? True enough, but that's not the whole of it. There was always something more, wasn't there?" Faith's tone was still light and cheerful, at odds with the intense words. Virgil squirmed under her dark gaze, clutching Richie's hand a bit tighter.

"I think you need to leave," he said firmly, glaring up at her defiantly. Her words were striking too close to home, too close to the truth that had lurked inside of him for almost half his life…too close to the truth he had been trying to speak the night Richie had been so badly injured.

"I think I need to stay. You need to hear this, Static. You loved him, didn't you? You loved him and you never had the nerve to tell him, and now you've lost your chance forever. That's why you keep coming here…your own guilt and regret. It has nothing to do with Richie." The nurse planted her hands on her hips, her dark eyes flashing in the harsh light over Richie's bed.

For a split second, Virgil could only stare at her, struck to the core. Then, her words registered on his conscious mind. First and foremost was the fact that she had called him by his other name.

In a flash he had leapt over the bed, crashing into the nurse and pinning her against the opposite wall. There was no thought other than to get himself between her and Richie. He shoved his arm across her neck, pushing her back roughly and raising his free fist, already crackling with blue light above his head.

"Who are you?" he growled. She didn't look like any villain he had fought recently, but she could have been a lackey. "What do you want?"

Despite being closer to death than she had ever been, in Static's estimation, the soft, serene smile remained fixed on her face.

"I told you; I'm Faith. As for what I want, I just want you to see the truth."

"Girl, you don't know anything about me and him. Yeah, I'll never stop regretting what happened to him, yeah I feel guilty as hell for never saying anything to him…but you are dead wrong about why I come here. Richie's my best friend…he's family! He was always there for me, and I'm going to be there for him. I don't care how much it hurts, I'm sticking this through with him. He's not gonna be alone; he's never gonna be alone."

Oddly enough, the smile widened. She seemed the very picture of joy, despite being pinned to the wall by a very pissed off superhero.

"You do love him. Truly and purely. I'm so glad, Virgil." In the time between one heartbeat and the next, he was back in his chair. He didn't let go of the woman to sit down, he wasn't thrown back…he simply found himself in the same position he had been in when the nurse started speaking—still clutching Richie's limp hand and staring at the grinning nurse.

He wasn't so sure she was a nurse, anymore.

"What do you want?" he asked again, warily. Whatever she was, it was obvious he was dealing with a very powerful being.

"Want? Dear boy, I want to give you a Christmas present."

"A Christmas present," Virgil repeated doubtfully. "Why would you want to give me a Christmas present?"

"You really have to ask? All the good you've done and continue to do, all the sacrifices you've made…do you think it goes unnoticed?"

"I don't expect a reward. It's the right thing to do."

"And that, precisely, is why you deserve a reward. True heroes are a rare thing these days, Mr. Hawkins. We don't take them lightly. So, I've come to give you a gift. The rarest and most precious of all gifts. It's a tradition."

"Yeah, and what's that?"

The smile dimmed slightly, becoming sweeter and more mysterious. A soft, golden light began to emanate around her, bathing the room in a warm glow.

"A second chance."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything, still not making money, and still don't want you to sue me :)

Author's notes: Some of you may have realized already, but if not, this 'fic is based heavily on the movie "Three Days" with Tim Robbins. It's an excellent movie and, I think, a beautiful, if sad, story.

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Virgil had no time to ask what Faith meant by 'a second chance.' The glow around the petite woman intensified, growing so bright he was forced to shield his eyes for fear of being blinded. Instinctively, he threw his upper body over Richie, intent upon protecting him from whatever was about to transpire. He called his powers up, preparing a volley of electricity to let loose as soon as he had the chance.

It quickly became apparent that the chance was not forthcoming. The glow reached its zenith, flaring white with its intensity. It seemed that it should have burned the flesh from his bones, but instead there was only the gentlest of warmth—like the kiss of the sun on a spring day. Then, Virgil was falling.

The light, the hospital room, Faith, and Richie—they all vanished, and Virgil found himself tumbling head over heels into a black void. There was no sound, no light, no wind, and if he screamed, the noise was carried away, unheard. The warmth vanished as well, but it was not replaced by cold. There was simply—nothing. He fell and fell for what might have been seconds, might have been hours, until at last he landed with a thud on something soft and forgiving.

He lay stunned for a few seconds. Then he slowly raised his head. Faith was nowhere to be seen, nor was Richie. Virgil was surprised to find himself tangled in the comforter of an unmade bed, in what looked to be a bedroom. Then, he looked harder.

"No way," he whispered into the silence. The posters on the wall, the curtains on the window, the clothes spilling out of the closet…it all made up a terribly familiar scene. He looked down at the blankets and they, too, were exactly as he remembered them. "Impossible!" He was back in his old room, in the house where Pops, Sharon and Adam still resided.

Which _was_ quite impossible because his old bedroom had been converted into a nursery three years ago, for the birth of his first nephew.

"Sorry for the rough trip…but trust me, it's a lot easier when you're not expecting it." Virgil jackknifed into a sitting position at the voice. Nurse Faith was sitting at his old computer desk, idly flipping through a beat up TrapperKeeper. "Good heavens, don't they teach proper note-taking anymore? How did you pass anything with only this gibberish to look back on?" She 'tsked' softly, and tossed the binder back onto a precariously stacked pile of textbooks. Textbooks he had gleefully returned to the school the day he graduated high school.

"What _are_ you?" Faith no longer looked like a nurse, though he doubted she had ever been one in the first place. The blue scrubs and nametag had been replaced by a red silk tunic and black pants, and the long black hair trailed over one shoulder in a thick braid, dotted with red flowers. She looked like an Oriental princess.

"It doesn't matter what I am, Virgil. It changes depending on who I'm talking to. For you—just think of me as a friend. I promise; I'm not here to harm you or any of the ones you care about. I'm most certainly not evil. I just want to give you—"

"Right, right, a Christmas present," Virgil interrupted, scrubbing his hands over his face. It was then that he got his final surprise. "What the hell?!" He jerked his hands from his face as though he had been burned. Faith merely smiled that mysterious smile of hers as Virgil thrashed his way free of the bedding, managing to send himself crashing to the floor with most of it. He kicked free and stumbled to the mirror on the closet door, his heart thudding in his chest.

Staring back at him was a face he hadn't seen in a decade.

Oh it was still undoubtedly him, Virgil Hawkins…but _young_. Gone was the muscle that years of working with the Justice League had put on his body, gone were the inches of height a last growth spurt between junior and senior year had given him. Gone was the world weary and guarded look that the years as Static had gifted him with, and gone were the shadows of a pain that had never fully healed. He looked…he _was_ sixteen again.

"Now do you understand?" Faith's whispered question came from directly behind him, although he hadn't seen or heard her move. He started, nearly tipping into the mirror as he turned to face the being.

"A second chance," he murmured, and then his eyes went wide. "What's today?"

"Today? Why it's Christmas Day!" Faith giggled, her dark eyes dancing. "Sorry, couldn't resist. It's December 23rd, in your sixteenth year. About seven in the morning to be exact."

"So, you mean…it hasn't happened yet! Richie's still okay! None of it has happened!" Virgil felt suddenly dizzy as the magnitude of what he had been given hit him. In a little over twenty four hours, on Christmas Eve, something terrible was going to happen to his dearest friend…something he now could prevent. Faith, however, did not look nearly as joyful as she had only seconds ago. Perhaps it was the Batman's influence, but a wave of suspicion hit him, quenching instantly the happiness in his heart. "It's not that easy, is it?"

"Nothing ever is," Faith conceded. "Sit down, Virgil." He did so, mutely, crossing back over to his bed. "Do you remember why tomorrow night was so important to you? And I'm not talking about what happened to Richie." Her voice had taken on a somber tone, and Virgil was suddenly seized with the feeling that it was dreadfully wrong for this being to be so sad.

"Of course I remember," he hedged, not wanting to go into something so personal. He had agonized for nearly two months before that…this…Christmas about a very special gift. Though if he were honest, it had been something building for much, much longer.

"What was it?" Faith pressed. She sat down next to him and gently took one of his hands in her own. Wherever her skin touched his, Virgil felt that same soft warmth stealing into him.

"I-I was going to tell him…tell Richie—that, that I loved him. You know, _love_ loved." He ducked his head, embarrassed, but there was no condemnation in Faith's face.

"And what happened?" Virgil had the feeling she already knew perfectly well what had happened, but he found himself confessing anyway. It felt good, in a strange sort of way, to talk about it after keeping silent for a decade. He had never told anyone, not his father, not Sharon, not his friends in the League…as far as any of them knew, he had lost a dear friend that night—not the love of his life. And though he had moved on, to some degree, there would never be another for him…his disastrous and short-lived marriage to a college sweetheart had proven that.

"I lost my nerve…just like you said. I started thinking about what Pops would say, what all our friends would say…and I started thinking about him hating me, leaving me, ending our friendship. I couldn't do it. I couldn't tell him. Th-then we got word of some new bang baby busting up the industrial park."

_C'mon, V, we can be there and back before they're finished with the Christmas carols. This guy doesn't look so tough_.

"We should have been able to take him out easily…he was all muscle and no brains. Rich had him going in circles inside of ten minutes."

_Geez, they grow them big and stupid these days! What d'ya think?_

"He went in with some new grenade of his…wanted to distract the guy while I slammed him from the side."

_On the count of three, okay, bro?_

"I was ready! I swear I was ready…I had his back, and it was all going right."

_Static, look out!_

"S-something hit me in the air and…and…"

_Falling._

_Plummeting out of the sky and fear. So much fear, but not because of the falling._

_Fear because of the horrendous crash echoing in his ears. Explosion of falling metal and concrete._

_Scream of pain and then silence as he hits the ground. Not his scream though…not his pain._

_Gear?_

_Stumbling to his feet and staring in horror at the wreckage that had been the building they were battling near. The bang baby's power? Richie's toys? Doesn't matter…_

_Gear? Oh God, answer me!_

_Running now, running and ignoring the stab of pain from a twisted ankle. Running towards the wreckage because he can't see either of them. Too close…they were too close to the building when it fell._

_Gear! Gear! Shit, say something!_

_Falling to his knees and digging through the rubble, uncaring of the stone scraping his hands, shredding his gloves. Throws the larger pieces aside with his powers and on his lips is a pleading prayer._

_Be okay, be okay, God, please, let him be okay. I'm sorry, Rich, I'm so sorry!_

_There's a crowd gathering, but he doesn't care. New hands join in the digging as they realize who must be buried. Gear's become as much of a hero as Static, as beloved by the people. He reaches what must have been the epicenter of the explosion, and there's someone crying as they notice the rocks they are clearing are stained with blood. Start of surprise as he realizes it's him crying…a keening wail of despair._

_No, please, no, no, no, no!_

_Body of the bang baby…never even knew his name, never will now. So much blood, too much blood. How can there be so much blood? And then he sees it._

_Richie! Richie, answer me!_

_Shouting his real name, and doesn't care who hears. All that matters is the single gloved hand beneath the rubble, looking so small and fragile. He's always loved to watch Richie's hands as they move over some new piece of equipment._

_Not moving though, it's just lying there. He grabs it desperately as others move aside the rocks and metal covering his friend's body. Desperately searching for some sign of life, some hint of hope. Crying, sobbing, and he doesn't care who sees._

"We got him out…he was alive, but just barely. They never figured out what happened, but I know I could have saved him if I hadn't gotten knocked out of the air. I could have saved him." Virgil turned away from Faith and scrubbed angrily at his eyes. He'd thought he had long ago cried out all his tears over this. "They…they thought he'd die for sure. He was so hurt, so broken. He _didn't_ die. He didn't. But he never woke up. He'll never wake up."

"I'm sorry." Two words he had heard over and over again in reference to what had happened to Richie, but never with such sincerity and empathy. Even Pops and Sharon had never made him feel as though they actually knew what he was going through. "I know the pain of losing someone you loved so much, to something you should have been able to prevent. That's why they sent me on this assignment."

"Why are we here? Why now?" He whispered roughly, drawing his hand away from Faith's. She let him retreat a bit, and then sighed heavily.

"I told you, this is a gift for you, Virgil. I truly don't mean for you to be hurt. You've been given a second chance to do what you've so longed to do, what you felt you should have done on this night all those years ago. None of it has happened yet. Richie is still very much in one piece, and heading over here within a matter of hours. You and you alone have the knowledge of what's going to happen to him tomorrow night. You have until midnight Christmas Eve. On the stroke of midnight, time will turn forward again, and everything will return to normal."

"What's the catch?" He wanted to believe…he wanted to believe so much that this was exactly what Faith had said it was: a second chance. A chance to save his friend, a chance to set things right. Faith, though, had said it wasn't that easy. Her expression confirmed as much—that terrible sadness that seemed so out of place upon her lovely face returned full force, and a bittersweet smile quirked her lips.

"You can't change Fate, Virgil," she said gently, cupping his face in one hand. "You can't alter Richie's destiny…no one can. It was ordained from the moment of his birth that the events on Christmas Eve transpire. You can't save him. And if you try, this gift will be taken away from you, and you will find yourself in exactly the same position you were in when I walked in."

"Then what the hell kind of second chance is this?!" Virgil shouted, surging to his feet. Hot, angry tears gathered in his eyes. "What good is it if I have to let Richie…let Richie…he's suffering in my future. You can't tell me he's not! What did he ever do to deserve that? Huh? You said I deserve a reward because I'm a hero, well what about him? He was right there with me, facing all the danger I did, and he didn't even have a power that could _protect_ him. He was twice the man I could ever be! How can you tell me I have to leave him to die by inches!"

"I don't make the rules, Virgil. I can only abide by them. Richie's fate is set…it cannot be changed. He will meet that 'bang baby' on Christmas Eve. You can't stop that." Faith rose to stand in front of him, and despite the fact that he had several inches on her, he felt a tiny bit intimidated. "But you _can_ tell him how you feel. You can speak the truth in your heart, and offer him that comfort when he faces his fate. You have been given another chance to tell him how much you love him, Virgil. Don't you realize what a treasure that is? Take it from someone who _knows_…there is no greater gift in this world we can give than our love. Keeping it to yourself is something you will regret to the day you die, Virgil. So many people in this world go through their lives and never know love, never know the joy and comfort it brings. Don't deny Richie that gift a second time."

"I can't let him go, again," Virgil answered, brokenly. He thought of that twisted, shattered shell that wore his best friend's face, lying alone in that sterile room. How could he abandon his friend to that?

"You have to," Faith said firmly, though not unkindly. "You have no choice. But you can let him face his future with the greatest part of yourself."

"W-what do I do?" He breathed deeply, trying to quell the tremor in his voice.

"Whatever you wish. These hours are yours to do with as you will. Just remember, at midnight…all will be as it was meant to be." With that, Faith stood on tiptoe and planted a feathery kiss on his forehead. "This is a _gift_ Virgil. Remember that."

Then she was gone. From one instant to the next, she had simply ceased to be.

And Virgil was left to wonder how he could ever survive losing Richie a second time.


	3. Chapter 3

Many heartfelt thanks to those of you who have reviewed. It means a lot to know that people are reading and appreciate my efforts. I realize this part is rather light on plot and there's still no sign of Richie, but the part I was going to have as the second half of this chapter (in which there _is _a sign of Richie) just refused to cooperate and jive nicely with this bit. So, you get a few more chapters than I had originally intended. Is anyone disappointed?

Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine. Still not making any money, still don't want anyone to sue, please.

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Virgil sat cross-legged on his bed, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. He had been in that position for nearly and hour now, ever since Faith had…vanished. All around him were the sounds of his home waking up, sounds both familiar and strange. He heard his father puttering around in the kitchen below, and knew that soon the smell of freshly brewed coffee would permeate the house. Still, it was odd to him not to hear the crying of his six month old niece, or the muted roar of the cartoons his nephew watched religiously, starting at sunup. He heard the shower start down the hall, and knew that Sharon would be in there for at least the next forty-five minutes. How unusual it was, though, not to hear Adam thumping around in what was now their shared bedroom, doing his morning calisthenics. Now, though, Adam and Sharon's wedding was still two years away. His niece and nephew were not born yet.

Richie was still all right.

"How am I supposed to do this?" he wondered aloud. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to protect his friend at all costs. Faith's words, however, rang through his head. He couldn't interfere. He wasn't going to be allowed to interfere. If he tried, all of this would disappear, and he would be back in that hospital room.

Despite the agony that ripped through him at the thought of letting Richie be hurt when he _knew _he could save him…he didn't want to lose this chance. To see his friend again, vibrant and full of life; to talk to him again and hear that voice answer back…it was a gift. It was a gift that came with a very high price, but a gift nonetheless. Faith had been right—he did regret chickening out on telling Richie his feelings more than almost anything else in his life. To have the chance to do it again, to do it right, was a treasure.

Finally, he raked his hands back through his hair, shoving it into even more disarray, and stood up. He faced his reflection in the mirrored door of the closet, silently marveling at the sight of his younger self. He looked like such a…kid. He drew himself up to his full height, squaring his shoulders and letting some of the hardness that had crept into his gaze over the years shine through. He was still himself, still Static—a hero of the Justice League and all around card-carrying good guy. He could do this. He could.

So why was he trying so hard to convince himself?

* * *

Faith watched her young hero silently, unobserved by the world around her. She noted the determination on his face and her heart ached for what he was going through. Truly the fates were giving with one hand and taking away with the other in this case. Even with all the surety that what she was doing would help him in the long run, and the knowledge that she couldn't change what had to happen, she couldn't help but feel sympathy for the youth.

"Why are you still hanging around? Your part's done…it's all up to him, now." Faith did not react to the new voice; she was used to her "supervisor" showing up at odd moments when she was on assignment.

"I just wanted to watch. Just in case—" she trailed off and lowered her head. A heavy sigh sounded from behind her, and a firm hand dropped on her shoulder.

"We can't change things, Faith. It's not our department."

"He was right, though. It's not fair."

"Few things in life are, my dear. If everything was safe and predictable, what would be the point of free will?"

"You _are_ preaching to the choir here, Gideon. I understand. I do…but he's done so much, for so many. Doesn't he deserve more than a fleeting moment of happiness?"

"It all balances out in the end. I know it's hard for these mortals to see that, sometimes, but it's true." Gideon was silent a moment. Then his voice gentled still further, mindful of the fact that this whole case had been a painful reminder of things past for his apprentice. "Does he know?"

Faith shook her head. "I couldn't tell him. Some things we're better off not knowing. How could he go through this, knowing that these are truly the last hours he'll ever spend with Richie, in _any_ form?"

"When is it going to happen?"

"Midnight. His heart is finally going to give out. It'll be so hard on Virgil, Gideon. So very hard."

"That's why young Mr. Hawkins was chosen to receive this gift, Faith. If he talks to Richie, if he takes the chance—at least he'll have that."

Faith well knew what a torment words left unspoken and feelings left hidden could be. Her Earthly life had been full of it. How many times had she wished for just one more day with her own lost love? How many times had she berated herself for keeping silent when she should have proclaimed for all to hear that she was in love? It was a terrible thing, such silence…it weighed on a soul. That was part of the reason she had leapt at this assignment. In Virgil Hawkins, she could see shadows of her own tragic story. Perhaps his would have a somewhat happier ending.

"Yes," she murmured, "at least he'll have that."

* * *

"Yo Pops, how's it hangin'?" Virgil greeted his father as brightly as he could, struggling to remember how he had talked when he was sixteen. Had he really changed that much? He didn't think so, but how could he really be sure? His father was staring at him in abject shock, and for a moment he feared he had done something that would rat him out.

"Fine, son. What's the occasion? It's vacation, before noon, you're vertical _and _coherent." Nothing to worry about then…just parental humor.

"Yeah, well, early bird and all that." Automatically, Virgil headed for the coffee machine, sniffing the ambrosial aroma appreciatively. Damn, but Pops made good coffee.

A fact he hadn't appreciated until he had gotten to college.

With a regretful sigh, Virgil aborted his quest for a mug and pulled out a cereal bowl instead. He loaded it with the first cereal that came to hand, and only then turned to face his father.

The decade Virgil could remember had been kind to Robert Hawkins. He was still a tall, broad man, with a commanding presence and an incredible heart in Virgil's future. This younger version, though, didn't have quite as much padding around the middle, and a great deal _more_ hair. Virgil snickered to himself as he sloshed milk over the sugar-chocolate-frosted-whatevers he had poured. The snicker quickly turned into a grimace as he took his first bite of cereal, though. How in the hell had he eaten this for years on end? How did the Flash still manage to down it by the box full? He chewed and swallowed as quickly as possible, nearly choking on the sugary film it left in his mouth.

"So," he said, sitting down at the kitchen table across from his father, "anything you need me to do today? Any last minute party supplies?"

Supplies for the Christmas Eve party they were throwing. The party that the bang baby had interrupted.

"/_Don't think about it_,/" he told himself firmly.

_C'mon, V, we can be there and back before they're finished with the Christmas carols. This guy doesn't look so tough._

_You can't change Fate, Virgil._

"I think we've got everything under control. You and Richie are going to help me put up the lights today, right?"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, sure…we've got you covered." Virgil's fists clenched on the table and he shot a glance at the kitchen clock. Richie would be here in a matter of hours. What was he going to do? What was he going to say? He only had until midnight tomorrow.

"/_Damn it, Faith…I need more time_!/" Who was he kidding? A hundred years, a thousand…it would never be enough time with his friend. He looked away from the clock to find his father looking at him oddly. Virgil squirmed under that intense gaze, ten years having done nothing to dispel the power of "the Look." He grinned weakly. "Hey, anything to avoid helping Sharon clean up."

Robert folded the paper he had been reading and set it down beside his plate, still regarding his son thoughtfully. He tapped his fingers lightly on the table before seeming to come to a decision. "Son, is there something going on between you and Richie?"

"Going on?" Since when did his voice squeak like that?! "Why would you think that?"

"Maybe because you've been twitching every time someone mentions his name for the past two months," Pops said wryly. He quickly became serious again. "Did you two have a fight?"

Virgil nearly wilted in relief. Then he cringed inwardly…that kind of thinking had been exactly what had led him to clam up the first time around. "No, sir," he sighed. "We're not fighting."

"Is there something up with, ahem, Static and Gear?" Worry, quickly suppressed but easily seen, blossomed in his father's eyes. Virgil smiled softly, seeing with older eyes the strain it had placed his father under to let him go out and be who he was at such a young age.

"No, Pops, nothing like that." This time, it was Pops who seemed to wilt in relief.

"You know you can talk to me about anything, Virgil."

"Yeah, I know. I just—don't know what's going on, yet. I mean, I know what's up with me, but I don't know what's going on his end. I mean, not that there's anything going on, just, you know…if there _was_, I'd know what was going on with _me_ and I still wouldn't know what's going on with him. Y'know?" Virgil finished weakly. He felt like banging his head on the table. Okay, so he had the body of his sixteen year old self—inside he was still the twenty-six year old _man_ who worked side by side with the likes of Superman and Batman. Had Faith switched out his brains when she switched his body?

"No, I actually think I'm more confused now than when we started this conversation. But okay, we'll talk when you're ready." Robert fell silent, staring into the depths of his coffee mug. Virgil pushed his now soggy cereal around with his spoon, realizing that he couldn't remember ever having this conversation with his father.

Fear stabbed through him. Did this count as interfering? Was Faith going to reappear and send him back to his future? He sat tensely for a full minute, waiting for the wrath of the strange being to fall down on his head. When no wrath appeared, he gradually relaxed. Great…so he could alter his past with his father as much as he wanted, but he couldn't step in for his best friend? He let the spoon fall into the soggy mass, no longer the least bit hungry.

"Virgil," his father began as he moved to stand up and take the bowl to the sink. Virgil paused.

"Yeah, Pops?"

His father stared at him for a few seconds, an entirely new intensity lighting his eyes. Then he reached across the table and gripped his son's hand, tightly. "Virgil, you're my son and I love you, no matter what. I want you to be happy, no matter what. Nothing will ever change that. You know that, right?"

Virgil froze at the unexpected words. It was not the first time his father had said such things to him, but this time rang with something more than the usual affection Pops had always shown his children. He felt his jaw fall open as the full implications hit him. Pops held his gaze a moment longer, then released his hand and sat back, unfolding the paper and starting to read it again as if the whole conversation had never taken place.

Virgil sat, blinking, for a few seconds before he finally remembered how to speak. "Yeah, Pops. I know that," he choked out, then scrambled out of his chair to dump his bowl in the sink. He let the water run a bit longer than necessary to wash the whole mess down the drain, trying to gather his thoughts. Finally, he shook his head and turned back toward the kitchen door, intent upon claiming his own round in the shower.

Before he left, though, he paused.

"Just so we're clear, we were just talking about me being hot for Richie and you being more or less cool with that, right?"

"Yes. Now be a good boy and let me freak out in peace, all right?"

"Right." Before he left, though, he ran back around the table and gave his father a bone-crushing hug. "I love you, Pops."

Then he left, a weight he had never before realized he was carrying suddenly gone from his soul.


	4. Chapter 4

As always, I would like to thank those of you who have reviewed. Your kind words inspire me to no end.

Author's notes: Even I will admit I've gone a little heavy on the angst here. Be warned--I was actually _trying_ to make people cry in this one. Then again, since that was the effect I was going for, it probably won't work :( It's not all tears and gloom in this chapter though, gentle readers, there be a ray of light at the end of the tunnel for those of you who have been lamenting the passing of our dear Richie. I'm not saying Virgil's going to be able to save him...I'm just saying I go where the muses lead and I didn't want to write myself into a corner. (Insert evil laughter here)

Disclaimer: 20th verse same as the first! I don't own them (the WB does!) I'm not making any money (that's what my job's for!) Please don't sue (that would be mean!) Big dance finale!

* * *

"Richie...I've wanted to tell you this for a long time. See, you're my best friend and you always will be, but I think we could be—no, no wait. Rich, we've been friends for a long time, right? And sometimes friendship develops—no, I'm not doing this right. Richie, would you do me the honor of—no that's didn't work freshman year, why would it work now?" Virgil sighed heavily and started again. "Rich, I'm going to jump your bones, now, okay?"

"Lacks romance, but it certainly gets to the point." Virgil jumped nearly a foot in the air and whipped around, blue light crackling around him without conscious thought. Faith was sitting at his computer desk again, straddling the reversed chair and resting her chin on the back of it.

Virgil shook his head and dropped to sit on the floor in front of his closet, where he had been "practicing" what he would say to his best friend. It was nearly eleven o'clock, and Richie was due to arrive at twelve to help Virgil and his father decorate the house for their party. Virgil was quite sure he had never been so apprehensive in his life. Then again, he'd never had so much riding on anything as he did the next few hours. If he screwed this up, he'd never get another chance.

And there was still the matter of what was going to happen tomorrow night.

"Things went well with your father," Faith ventured after a moment of silence.

"Yeah." Virgil laughed a touch bitterly. "I should have known he'd be okay with it. He's always supported me, no matter what."

"You're lucky to have him."

"You have no idea. I wouldn't have been able to be Static without him." They fell silent again, and some part of Virgil that was always thinking in "hero mode" quietly marveled at how quickly he had adjusted to all this. Here he was, suddenly sixteen again, talking about his relationship with his father to a woman who he was beginning to suspect was not anything even resembling human. Life was strange.

He glanced up at the clock on his bedside table. Eleven fifteen. His teeth clenched and abruptly he leaped to his feet, turned, and slammed his fists into the closet door, coming dangerously close to breaking the mirror.

"Virgil?" Faith sounded alarmed. Though he heard no movement, she was suddenly beside him.

"Faith, I can't do this. I need more time." He knew it was futile to ask. Faith had made that more than clear before she had left him the first time. Still, he had to try. As expected, though, Faith shook her head, sadly.

"There _is_ no more time. You have until tomorrow, dear. No more, no less. That's the deal." Virgil turned around to lean his back against the cool glass.

"Why can't I save him?" he whispered, his voice hitching. "I've saved so many people, Faith, so many strangers! Why can't I save the person I love?" He slid down the closet door until he came to rest on the floor again. "Why can't I save him?" He felt the burning ache of tears rising in his eyes, and was unable to prevent them from spilling over.

Faith closed her own eyes for a moment, and then sank down to kneel in front of him. She took both his hands in hers. Again that strange warmth sparked from her skin, but this time it brought no comfort.

"I'm so sorry, Virgil. If I could change things for you, I would. I swear I would. I wish things were different."

"Why _can't_ they be?! Huh? Are we being punished?" It was a fear that had lurked in his heart for years, unspoken; a secret wondering if maybe it wasn't his love that had sealed Richie's fate in the first place. To his shock, Faith dropped his hands to grip his shoulders, shaking him lightly.

"Don't _ever_ think that!" she said passionately. "You are not being punished…nor is Richie."

"How do you know?" Faith smiled gently in answer.

"You know the answer to that, Virgil. You asked me what I was, earlier. Haven't you figured that out, yet?"

He looked at her, really looked at her as she held his hands. She was not a particularly stunning woman, and yet there was something indescribably beautiful about her. He remembered the golden glow in Richie's hospital room, the sweet warmth of her touch, the feeling of calm and peace that she radiated.

"You're an angel," he breathed, before he was even aware he was speaking. He hadn't thought about it, really, too concerned with what she had done for him to wonder how she had done it. How could there be any other answer, though?

"Yes, my dear, I'm an angel." She hugged him, then, drawing him close. That strange warmth surrounded him, and Virgil had never felt such love or peace directed at him. "You are not being punished. Love freely given and received is never wrong, no matter what anyone else says. You have to believe that."

"Then why? Why does this have to happen to him? He doesn't deserve this!"

"No…no, he doesn't. I can't explain it to you in any way you'd understand. It's Fate. It can't be helped. To change someone's Fate…it would take a miracle. I can't give you a miracle, Virgil; I'm not allowed to give miracles." It didn't change anything, but at least Virgil could believe her when she said that she would help him if she could. Small comfort, it was, but it was something.

"I…I understand," he said, pain thick in his voice. "I—Faith, I don't want you to think I'm not g-grateful…"

"Shhhh. I know. Believe me, Virgil, I know." She released him and sat back, then reached out and wiped his cheek with one thumb. "I have to go, now. I'll be watching you, if you need to talk." Virgil nodded, and scrubbed at his eyes.

"Thanks, Faith. For everything."

She smiled and then, as before, she was gone.

* * *

Faith held it together until she had left her young hero's room, and found a quiet park to reappear in. There, amid the branches of the tallest tree she could find, she finally allowed herself to cry.

It was a horrible thing for an angel to be moved to tears. Virgil had been right when he had thought sadness out of place on her face. Sadness should have had no place in the heart of a being of love and light. Faith, though, wept for her young hero, and the young man he loved. She wept for the unfairness of it, for what-ifs and might-have-beens and most of all she wept for the pain she knew Virgil would go through. How could the comfort of this gift ever outweigh the pain? She knew it must, though, for she had meant what she had told Virgil. This was not a punishment for him…it was meant to be a gift.

"I told you not to go back." Gideon appeared beside her, his craggy, weathered face wreathed in sympathy. She nodded miserably, leaned into his offered embrace.

"I couldn't stay away," she said. "He's never left Richie alone, and I can't leave him. Oh Gideon, is there nothing I can do?" She turned pleading eyes on her mentor.

"Faith—you said it yourself…it would take a miracle to save him." There was something in Gideon's face, though, that caused Faith to sit bolt upright. She rubbed angrily at her eyes, willing herself to stop crying.

"What?" she demanded.

"What, what?" Gideon replied innocently. Faith didn't buy it for an instant.

"You've got that look."

"What look?"

"The look you get when you know something I don't!"

"Faith—"

"No! Gideon, you rat bastard, you told me this case wasn't authorized for miracles!"

"It's not."

"Then what was that look for?"

"Faith, I do not have a 'look' as you put it. Virgil Hawkins was granted a second chance to tell one Richard Foley that he loved him. The miracle it would require to alter Richard Foley's ordained fate has not been authorized. You know the rules."

Faith glared at him. He held up for a few seconds before he finally caved.

"There is…a loophole," he conceded quietly. Faith's eyes widened and she jumped to her feet, balancing delicately on the branch where Gideon was still sitting.

"Loophole? You never said anything about a loophole! What loophole?"

"Faith, please, it's not that simple." Gideon sighed, wishing not for the first time that he had not been assigned such a volatile apprentice. Faith had the makings of a fine angel, but she was still so emotional. "Yes, there is still a chance that a miracle may be performed. Such a miracle is only granted in exceptional cases, though. I'm sorry, but this case was reviewed quite thoroughly. If it was not decided that they deserve a miracle before the case was handed to you, there's almost no chance Virgil will be able to change that.

"He's a hero! A genuine hero…how can that not be exceptional?" Faith growled, planting her hands on her hips.

"Yes, yes, yes…he is an exceptional young man. However, this case is not based on his accomplishments as Static."

"Then what is it based on? How can he get that miracle?"

"Darling girl, I can't tell you. I don't know myself. A miracle is only given on individual basis, and so the circumstances are different every time. Such acts have only been granted three times in my entire tenure as a Christmas angel."

Faith felt the flame of hope that had sprung in her heart gutter. Only three times in nearly a thousand years? How could her young hero best such odds?

"As I said, my dear, it is entirely up to him, now. All you can do is be there for him, and pray for him."

Faith sat down again, heavily. She stared out through the branches, bare now, stripped by winter cold. A chill wind swept through the park, and though she couldn't feel the cold, she shivered.

"Gideon?"

"Hmmm?"

"Sometimes our job sucks."

"I rather think you'll find that true no matter what your assignment."

"Yeah. Gideon?"

"What?"

"I'm sorry I called you a rat bastard." Gideon chuckled dryly and wrapped one arm around her shoulders.

"I forgive you, child. At least you're not afraid to speak your mind."

* * *

Virgil had faced down more villains, mutants, and insurance salesmen than he cared to count. He had stood firm in the face of death, and remained calm when the fate of the world hung in the balance. He had traveled to distant galaxies, and met challenges that would have sent a lesser man screaming all the way back to his bed.

So why was the idea of seeing his best friend so terrifying?

As if he really had to answer that. He was so terrified because now he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was the last time he would ever speak to his beloved friend. When midnight, Christmas Eve rolled around, Faith would turn time forward again and he would find himself back at the New York hospital. All he would have left were the memories of one of the brightest spirits he had ever met.

_C'mon V, we can be there and back before they're finished with the Christmas carols. This guy doesn't look so tough._

"/_I'm not going to do this to myself_,/" he thought grimly. He couldn't change what would happen. He would have years to regret that fact, and try to accept it. He only had a matter of hours with Richie. Twenty four hours to store up enough memories to last a lifetime. Twenty four hours, and he had to make them the best of Richie's life.

The clock in the front hall chimed the quarter hour, and Virgil jumped at the sound. Richie was supposed to arrive around noon. Virgil wiped his palms on his jeans and resisted the urge to get up and look out the window again. Sharon was starting to look at him strangely…well, more strangely than usual.

Virgil remembered how they had spent this afternoon the first time around. If he had known it would be the last carefree afternoon he would ever spend with Richie, he would have tried a lot harder to commit every last detail to memory. He had been so distracted, so nervous as he had tried time and time again to work up the nerve to tell Richie what he wanted to say.

They had strung up lights all over the house, nearly doubling the number of lights the Hawkins' had already put up. Virgil vaguely remembered arguing with Richie about the best placement of a huge wreath, and fussing over the setup of the Kwanzaa candles that would be used after Christmas. They had ordered pizza, and strung popcorn, and filched cookies from the surprisingly delicious batches Sharon was turning out, all the while laughingly proclaiming how horrible they tasted. It had been a good day. Up until the very end of it.

As was their custom, he and Richie had headed up to his room to exchange Christmas gifts. Richie's mother took him to her sister's house for Christmas dinner every year, and so they usually gave their presents the day or two before. It was agreed, though, that the gifts would not be opened until exactly 9:30 on Christmas Day, so that they could be sure that they opened each other's gifts at the same time. It was a silly tradition left over from childhood, but one that was strictly observed.

Virgil had never had the heart to open Richie's last present to him.

That…this…Christmas Day had been a blur of hard waiting room chairs and grim processions of doctors and watching Richie's mother slowly fall apart as test after test made a parent's nightmare her reality. He had come home from the hospital, where his friend was lying pale and broken, seen the brightly wrapped package still resting on his desk for what should have been its 9:30 unwrapping, and lost it. He had cried for a solid hour, sitting on his bed while his father held him, rocking him like a baby.

It still sat on a top closet shelf in his New York apartment, carefully preserved. The paper and clumsy ribbon had long ago faded to near unrecognizable colors, but Virgil could no more stand to get rid of it than he could stand to open it.

He had meant his gift to Richie to be something less tangible, but far more important than any purchased bauble. He had intended to throw it all on the line, look Richie straight in the eye and tell him that he was in love with him.

He had ended up shoving a wrapped CD he had bought for his father into Richie's hands.

That was then, though. This was now…again. Things would be different this time. He would not let his fears get the better of him. He was better than that. He would not start on the what-ifs and let them talk him out of what he knew was the right thing to do. He still had no idea how his best friend would react to his declaration, but he strongly suspected he would not be disappointed. He didn't think Faith would have gone to all this trouble if his affections would not have been welcomed.

He was going to take what he had been given, and he was going to make the most of it. For both of them.

He was startled out of his musings by someone pounding on the front door. By the sound of it, it was not the first time they had knocked.

"V, I swear…if I drop this crap I am _not_ cleaning it up! Let me in!"

Virgil's heart leaped into his throat even as his stomach plummeted to the soles of his shoes. He hadn't heard that voice in ten years. Even pissed off, it was still the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. He was across the room before he was even aware he was moving, and threw open the door.

Richie paused in mid-kick, his arms laden with boxes, bags, and a precariously balanced present. One dark eyebrow quirked upwards, a familiar grin lit his face, and Virgil thought he might start crying again.

"Richie…"


	5. Chapter 5

In case anyone is still online this fine New Years Eve...Happy New Year! May the best that we've seen this year be the worst that we see in the next.

Ahem, before I proceed with this 'fic, I must post the following caveat. The author is in no way responsible for any instances of nausea, insulin shock, or diabetic coma that may result from the reading of this 'fic. Should you experience any of these symptoms, please proceed to the nearest exit in a calm and orderly manner, where attendants are waiting to assist you. Happy reading!

Guess what?! An awesome artist on the StaticSlash mailing list has drawn a fanart for this story! Yeah, it's just a sketch, but I think it's indescribably awesome that someone drew a picture based on something I wrote.

Go over to view the picture, and be sure to heap praise upon makkura:) The address is makkurakoyappi,deviantart,com

Just be sure you change those commas to dots. How the heck do you post links here anyway?

Disclaimer: Oh come on, you haven't figured it out yet? I'm not making any money off of this, just playing with the toys. I promise they will be returned in the codition they were in when I started.

* * *

"Richie." 

"Hey, bro, how's it goin'? Man you wouldn't believe how crazy it is over at my house! My Aunt Irene hurt her back a couple weeks ago, so Mom's cooking everything for the family dinner and we're packing it in the car with us. 'Why don't we just have everyone over here?' I said, but do they listen to me? No way! And then—uh, Virgil?"

"Rich—"

Richie frowned at him. "Yes, me Richie, you Virgil. Little help here?" He jostled the packages in his arms and shot Virgil a meaningful look. Virgil realized he was still standing in the doorway, just staring stupidly at his friend. Hurriedly, he moved to one side, and reached over to take the biggest box from Richie's arms.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry." The large cardboard box Richie had been carrying was full of Christmas lights and bright red ribbons. On top of that was the present Virgil had never opened, bright and new once again in its red and white polka dot wrapping and badly tied green ribbon. Richie readjusted the straps of the plastic bags he was carrying on his arms with a groan of relief and stepped through the door.

"Okay, so I brought all the lights we had left over and I found some really nice candles we've never used. Oh, and Mom sent over a couple bottles of cider." Richie dumped his burden on the couch and rustled something out of the plastic bags. "And, of course, the grand finale!" He turned around with two aerosol cans in hand and rattled them dramatically. "Fake snow."

Virgil was still standing by the open door, just staring. Richie's grin faded into a frown again. "V, you okay—oomph!"

Virgil crossed the distance between them in two strides, dumping the boxes on a chair. Without preamble he threw his arms around his best friend. Richie stood frozen for a moment, before he awkwardly returned the hug, patting Virgil's back with a can of fake snow.

"Uh, Virg?"

"Yeah?"

"Air kinda becoming an issue, here."

"Oh! Sorry!" Virgil backed away quickly. Richie tossed the cans onto the pile on the couch and made a show of straightening his shirt and readjusting his glasses. "It's just…it's good to see you, bro." Virgil murmured finally, the most incredible understatement he had ever uttered. His eyes drank in the sight of his friend the way a starving man might drink in the sight of a Thanksgiving banquet.

Here was Richie—whole, healthy, and talking to him. The memories of the horribly wasted, skeletal body, the sickly pale skin, the sunken eyes perpetually ringed by bruise-dark shadows were all chased away by the vision in front of him. Now, for the first time, he truly understood what Faith had meant when she said this was meant to be a gift. To be able to see his friend again, free of the injuries that had cut his life so tragically short even if they hadn't killed him…it was worth any price.

"You just saw me last night on patrol," Richie said, looking at Virgil as though he were wondering if the other hadn't hit his head on said patrol. Then the expression cleared, and Richie grinned at him. "But it's good to see you, too. Now, what is it your dad wants done?"

The afternoon progressed much as Virgil remembered it from the first time he had lived through it. They strung lights around the windows, and liberally applied the snow-in-a-can, much to Sharon's dismay. The ribbons were wound around every possible surface, and Virgil's father produced a load of pine boughs left over from the many Christmas tree lots in the city. Under Sharon's watchful direction, they transformed the living room and dining room into the proverbial winter wonderland.

Just because he was free to be goofy with his friend again, Virgil started a popcorn fight when they were stringing the stuff for the buffet table Sharon wanted to set up. He used increasingly outrageous means to sneak samples of Sharon's baking. He went out of his way to make Richie laugh, and if Richie noticed that Virgil never strayed more than a foot or two from his side, he was nice enough not comment. Likewise, if he noticed that Virgil's father was watching them both with unusual interest, he never mentioned it.

It was a good day.

Still, as the hours whiled away, Virgil found himself no closer to making his confession. By the time his father ordered the pizza for dinner, he was a bundle of nerves. Finally, he volunteered to go down to the basement for more chairs while Richie and his father wrestled a giant wreath over the fireplace into submission, just to get a chance to breathe and collect his thoughts. He found the chairs quickly and plopped down in one, holding his head in his hands.

"How's it going?" He was unsurprised to hear Faith's voice beside him. Without looking up, he shrugged.

"You tell me," he muttered. "Damn it, Faith, I'm twenty six years old and I'm totally choking. I wasn't even this nervous when I proposed to Carol!"

"Indeed." She reached over and picked a stray bit of popcorn out of his hair. "Look, I'm not trying to bring you down, but you _are_ running out of time."

"I know!" he replied forcefully. Then, he modulated his voice. Getting angry at Faith would serve no purpose. "I know," he repeated, more softly. "It's just—seeing him again, hearing him…it's incredible. I can't tell you what it feels like."

"So go try and tell him."

"I don't know how! I had this speech all ready, but nothing sounds good enough."

"Then just grab him and kiss him. If he doesn't hit you, you're fine."

"You think he's gonna hit me?" Virgil sat up straight and looked at her worriedly. Faith was suddenly reminded of a frightened rabbit. She couldn't help but laugh at him, despite the gravity of the situation.

"Virgil…look, I can't tell you what's in his heart. However, I _can_ tell you that if I were you, I would definitely take the odds on him not hitting you."

"You're right…you're right. I can do this. I can. I'm just gonna go up there, and I'm gonna do it." He stood up, determination steeling his features. He made it two steps before he turned around and went back to the chair. "I can't do this."

"Virgil—"

"It's nuts, I know. I'm a grown man and he's my best friend and—oh God, I'm about to go put the moves on a minor!" His eyes widened in horrified realization. Faith crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the wall behind her, an expression of disbelief on her face.

"What?"

"I'm twenty six years old, Faith! I know I look sixteen, but up here," he tapped the side of his head, "I'm still me! The future me. Richie's still sixteen. Oh man, I'm a pervert. Does this make me a pervert Faith?"

"Virgil!" Faith barked out his name, cutting through his ramblings like a hot knife through butter. "One, breathe. Two—the fact that you are technically ten years older than Richie right now does not make you a pervert." Virgil sighed in relief. "The fantasy you have involving the chocolate sauce and the cling wrap makes you a pervert."

"Faith!" he squeaked out, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks so quickly it was almost painful. How had she known about that? Faith let him squirm for a few seconds before taking pity on him.

"Virgil…it doesn't matter how old you are inside your head. What matters is what's inside your heart. Love freely given and received Virgil—that's what you have to remember. Keep in mind, neither you nor Richie is exactly a normal teenager at this point anyway. You've both dealt with things that no child should ever have to face—you understand things that it takes others a lifetime to learn. You both grew up far faster than you should have. Now…stop making excuses, get up there, and tell that boy how you feel."

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I'm going to do it. For real, this time." On impulse, he leaned over and pecked Faith on the cheek, smiling as it was her turn to blush. He then turned, grabbed the two chairs he had come down for, and started back towards the stairs.

Inspiration struck him before he had made it more than three feet.

He whipped around again. Sure enough, Faith was still standing there, watching him with a rather knowing grin. She winked at him and rubbed her hands together.

"Consider it done," she said brightly, before Virgil could voice his request. There was the very faintest puff of wind this time as she disappeared into thin air. Virgil grinned to himself, hefted the chairs, and scurried back up into the living room.

* * *

Virgil, Sharon, their father, and Richie fell on the pizza like starving wolves. For once, Sharon made nary a comment about the two boys piling slices on their plates as though it was their last meal, as hers was nearly as high. They collapsed in the living room around the coffee table, cheesy Christmas carols blaring from the music station on the TV, and proceeded to stuff themselves on the pizza—deep dish pepperoni, olives, and extra cheese, Virgil's favorite. The day was winding down into evening, the sun already mostly set. Virgil watched the clock like a hawk, waiting for just the right moment. 

He had already snuck away while they were waiting for the pizza to be delivered to get his end of preparations done…now Faith just had to fulfill her end. Inwardly, he chuckled to himself—this was going to be great. He leaned back against the foot of the couch, no longer really participating in the flow of conversation around him, just watching.

Richie and his father were deeply involved in some discussion about a new computer program due to come out in the beginning of the year. Virgil hid his smile behind a glass of soda as Richie began gesturing wildly, stabbing a piece of pizza forward to emphasize a point. He'd thought Richie attractive (obviously), but looking at this version after ten years of the broken shell of his friend brought new details to his attention. Like the way his smile lit up his entire face, the abandon with which he threw himself into things that interested him. Virgil noticed the way the lights shone on the blond hair, bringing out highlights of deeper gold, and the delicate flush that rose on pale skin when he got excited.

He wondered how far down that flush would go…

Virgil quickly sent that train of thought to a screeching halt. He really didn't want to see how badly his sixteen year old hormones could betray him. A final glance at the clock, and he decided it was time. Suddenly nervous, despite the confidence he had shown to Faith, he gulped down the rest of the soda in his glass and stood up casually.

"Rich, man, what time your Mom expecting you home?" he asked. Richie paused in mid-rant and looked up at Virgil blankly, taking a few seconds to brig his attention out of the world of programming language and calculations. Then he glanced down at his wristwatch and shrugged.

"Eh, any time before eight. My grandpa's supposed to call us tonight, and I don't want to miss him." Richie's paternal grandfather lived on the other side of the country, and Richie rarely got the chance to see him.

"Why don't you boys go on upstairs? Sharon and I will handle clean up." Robert Hawkins had the most bizarre expression on his face as he said that—half "oh my God, I can't believe I'm doing this" and half "best of luck to you, son." Virgil shot him a grateful look. "Thank you for coming over today, Richie. We couldn't have done it without you," Robert continued warmly. Richie grinned back at him.

"No problem Mr. H. I never turn down a chance to earn pizza," he replied with a wink. Sharon snorted.

"Or anything else edible," she muttered, but shot Richie a small smile of her own. Richie stuck his tongue out at her good-naturedly. Then he hopped lightly to his feet and scooped the red and green package off of the floor next to the couch, where it had been stowed to prevent squashing.

Virgil took a deep, steadying breath as he led the way up the stairs, silently willing his palms to dry up already. This was it—zero hour. If this went well, he would have until midnight tomorrow night to experience a bliss he would never have expected to have only a few short days ago. If it went badly—well, he might as well ask Faith to just send him back early.

He breathed a silent prayer to whoever might be listening for the former to be the case as he opened his bedroom door.

"Whoa, Virg, did Sharon threaten to come in here and give all you stuff away to the Salvation Army again?" Richie laughed as he entered the room. The place was spotless, thanks to a frenzied cleaning, which, he was proud to say, did involve shoving his things into the closet in any way. Even the bed was made.

"Something like that," Virgil said, shutting the door behind them. Strange how the sound of the latch closing seemed so loud. Richie admired the carpet he rarely got to see for a few seconds, before he turned back toward Virgil and held out his present with a flourish.

"You, my friend, are gonna flip," he said, as he had all those years ago. The teasing, dancing smile was the same as it had been, as was the sparkle in his eyes, like a kid keeping a juicy secret. "I have outdone myself this year, if I do say so myself." He blew on his nails and buffed them against his shirt. Virgil laughed weakly as he took the present, and then set it down on the foot of the bed. He couldn't bring himself to put it on the desk as he had the last time. He fingered the cheap ribbon for a moment, before he closed his eyes and squared his shoulders.

"I, uh, didn't go out and buy you something this year, Rich," he said quietly. He turned quickly to catch Richie's reaction. Others might have been hurt at a perceived slight, but Richie merely raised one eyebrow in inquiry.

"S'okay, Virg, you don't have to get me anything," Richie said easily, and Virgil could tell he meant it. Unsaid, but well known, was the sentiment that their friendship had always been and would always be good enough a gift for both of them.

"No, that's not it. I do have a present for you…it's just not something you can open the day after tomorrow."

"Oh, messing with tradition, here, V. That's dangerous stuff." Richie's words were light, but he looked touched.

"/_Now or never_,/" Virgil told himself. As though by some prearranged signal, though he had not even thought of how he would tell Faith when he was ready, there was a rush of the now familiar warmth in the air around them, and then the lights went out.

The room was plunged into perfect darkness, helped along by the drawn curtains on the window and the sudden appearance of a cloud across the moon in an otherwise sparkling clear night. Richie yelped in surprise and Virgil took a careful, halting step towards the sound.

"What the—Virgil? Where are you, man?" He ignored Richie's question, closed his eyes, and aimed a tiny spark of power upwards.

The darkness receded and Virgil heard a soft gasp in front of him. Only then did he open his eyes. The sight that greeted him was perfect. "/_Thanks, Faith_./"

His ceiling was covered in lights. There were no bulbs or wires, and yet the entire ceiling was alive with them. They sparkled with the same golden light Faith had produced, clusters of particles charged with Static's energy, thousands of small, dancing points of light—like golden stars across his ceiling. Slowly, the lights began to move, swirling slowly around the ceiling in intricate patterns. Richie was staring up, mouth agape, and Virgil's breath caught at the sight of him bathes in that golden glow.

"Virg…geez, are you doing this?" Richie whispered suddenly. He refocused his attention on the other youth, stunned delight shining in his eyes.

"You like it?" Virgil asked in reply, neatly dodging the question.

"It's—it's gorgeous!" Richie exclaimed, raising his eyes to the ceiling again.

"Yeah," Virgil agreed, not looking at the lights at all. "Uh, this isn't your present though. This is just…atmosphere."

Richie tore his gaze away from the light show for a final time. "Oh really? Atmosphere for what?"

There was never going to be a more opportune time. The lights grew steadily brighter, swirling in tighter circles until they were spinning over the heads of the two boys. Confusion bloomed on Richie's face as Virgil moved closer. Now or never. The lights began raining down on them in a sparkling shower, and everywhere one touched them, an echo of Faith's warmth blossomed. Virgil winged one final prayer heavenwards, and went for broke. He reached up, pulled Richie towards him, and kissed him.

It was worth it. Whatever else he suffered after this instant, it was worth it to do this, even if it was only once. Virgil strove to commit every microsecond of the feel of Richie in his arms to perfect memory. The lights spun in a single, final frenzy, and exploded in a shower of warm sparks around them, and were gone.

Virgil's bedside lamp and the overhead flickered back into operation. He stood there for a moment more, then released his friend, and stepped back. Time to face the music.

Richie's expression was not unlike those worn by their enemies right after Static zapped them with a nova blast. He looked as though he'd been hit in the back of the head with a baseball bat. The seconds ticked by, and Virgil grew more and more nervous as Richie remained silent, just staring at him.

"Th-that was my present?" Richie managed finally, raising one hand to his lips and swallowing convulsively. He didn't sound angry…but he didn't sound pleased either.

"Um, yeah…yeah, that was it," Virgil replied uncertainly. Richie nodded once.

"Frieda? Daisy?" It was a bit of a left-field comment, but Virgil quickly realized what Richie was asking.

"Not even blips on the radar. Not for a long time." Again, Richie nodded.

"Was that some kind of experiment?" Richie's voice had gone flat, as close to Gear's coldly analytical side as Virgil had ever heard his friend utter while out of costume.

"No! No, Richie…damn it, I wouldn't do that to you," Virgil rushed to assure, horrified that his friend could even think such a thing. A cold, sick feeling began growing in the pit of his stomach. He'd done it…he'd really done it. He had ruined his friendship with one of the most important people in his life.

"Then why?"

"Because, I…I…I love you, damn it! I haven't been able to think about anyone else for months!" Virgil desperately wanted to call the words back as soon as they crossed his lips. He could've played it off as a joke, might have been able to salvage his friendship with Richie before those final hours ticked down. Not now, though. Not now that Richie knew the truth.

Richie nodded yet again, a short, quick gesture that seemed to Virgil as bad as if Richie had reached out and slugged him. "Good."

"I'm so sorry—look we can just forget it…wait, what?"

How had he ever thought Richie's smile bright before? This expression was blinding. "I said, 'good,'" Richie repeated slowly, enunciating each word. It was Virgil's turn to look pole axed. Richie laughed aloud and took his friends face in his hands. "I don't ever want you to think about anyone else."

Then, Richie tackled him. Virgil had time for one surprised yell before he tumbled back onto the floor in front of his bed. The carpet cushioned most of the impact to his tailbone, but it still hurt.

A split-second later, though, he didn't care. Richie landed more or less on his knees, straddling Virgil's lap, and proceeded to try and kiss the breath out of him. It was Virgil's turn to freeze for a moment, before his brain caught up with events. There was something of an 'oh hell yeah' from every nerve ending in his body, and the paralysis was broken. He reached up and pulled his friend closer to him, relishing the feel of Richie's body against his.

Then, coherent thought ceased for a little while.

* * *

Faith let out a shriek of triumphant delight and spun on top of the Hawkins' roof. "Yes! Go Virgil!" she called, performing an impromptu dance step on the narrow peak. Just for the heck of it, she raised her hands and let a shower of the same sparks that had adorned Virgil's room moments ago erupt from her fingertips. Without Static's extra charge of energy, they were not quite so bright and beautiful, but they were an expression of pure joy, so who cared? 

"_That_ was not in your job description." Gideon appeared beside her, floating in midair, his hands on his hips and a rather irritated expression on his face. Faith didn't care.

"Oh Gideon, don't be such a wet blanket. Virgil just wanted it to be special. Richie will think it was Virgil's powers…what's the harm?" Gideon merely raised one eyebrow and snorted in that way that told Faith he couldn't think of a good argument, but didn't want her to think she had won.

"Out of curiosity, what was that? Harlequin Romance night at the Astrology Society?"

"It was gorgeous and romantic, and you know it!"

"Hrmph. I hope you told the boy to have some insulin ready before the show."

Faith stuck her tongue out at him. Gideon merely rolled his eyes. "Yes, well, back to the matter at hand—"

"Gideon…don't," Faith interrupted. "Don't tell me anything about tomorrow, don't give me advice, and don't make me remind Virgil. Just…just let them be happy tonight, and let me be happy for them, okay?" Faith paused in her dancing, and Gideon's stern face softened visibly.

"As you wish, my dear," he murmured. Faith nodded her thanks, and her mentor vanished. The mood was broken, though. In the room below her, her two young heroes reveled in each other, and in the glow of newly confessed love.

Faith, however, could not help but think about the fact that their happiness was already waning into its death.

"Twenty nine hours, Virgil. Make them count."


	6. Chapter 6

Hello all. This will probably be the last part up until next weekend...I'm moving this Sunday, and then it's back to my grownup job on Monday. Grading papers does not lend itself to having lots of free time ;) Don't worry, though, not much further to go, now!

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the creators of Static Shock, and am making no money off of this. It is for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

How long they sat there, trying to devour each other's mouths, he wasn't sure. Eventually, however, common sense started knocking on the door again. Here, Virgil found the intervening ten years he had experienced useful. It had been a long time since the head south of the border had done all his thinking for him. At least a few months.

Reluctantly, he pulled his hands out from under Richie's shirt, leaving the delicious expanse of skin they had been exploring behind. Richie made a small noise of protest, and Virgil chuckled lightly. "Rich," he murmured between kisses, "Rich, c'mon man, we can't do this here." A difficult sentence to utter, but entirely true.

"Hmm? Hmm…why not?"

"Because….uh…oh geez…because my Dad and Sharon are still downstairs." Richie finally pulled away, sitting back on his heels. Instantly, Virgil felt the loss of heat and it was all he could do not to pull his friend back down to him.

"We could be quiet," Richie suggested, smiling. Virgil's brain blanked out for a moment as he struggled to remember why he had suggested they stop in the first place.

"Tempting…very tempting. But c'mon—" He reached up and ran his fingers through sweat-darkened blond hair, relishing the freedom to do so. "I think you're worth more than trying to be quiet while we have a quick roll on my bedroom floor."

"Been watching those daytime soaps again?" Richie looked flattered, though, and quietly rolled off of Virgil's lap to sit beside him. Virgil snickered as the other boy covertly tried to "adjust" himself. Richie mock-glared at him. "Hey, buddy, I better not be the only one in need of a cold shower, here!"

"Alva in a G-string," Virgil said simply. He could literally watch the process of the words registering in Richie's ears. An expression of sheer horror came over his face, and his hands clamped over his ears in a belated effort to protect them from such vile sensory data. He rolled away, thrashing on the floor.

"Gah! Oh my God, V, how _could_ you—gah! Oh that's gross!"

"Did it work?" Richie paused in his melodramatic thrashing to glance down at his lap.

"Yeah, actually. Bastard."

Virgil laughed and flopped down on his stomach to lie next to Richie, reaching to hook an arm across Richie's stomach. They lay there for a few moments, just staring up at the ceiling. Finally, though, Virgil broke the silence.

"So, can I assume you feel the same way about me?" he asked playfully, but there was a hint of real insecurity behind the words. Richie hadn't actually said the words himself, yet.

"What, V, you think I've been hanging around for the spandex and the opportunity to risk my life in new and interesting ways?" Richie snorted. Then he turned serious. He focused harder on the ceiling, and when Virgil glanced over, he could see bright red rising in Richie's cheeks. "You're one of the best things in my life, Virg. You're my best friend, my partner…hell; you're a part of me. Yeah, I love you. I have for a long time." He turned on his side to face Virgil, and a wicked grin twisted his lips. "You…complete me," he intoned dramatically. Virgil mimed wiping away a tear.

"Just stop—you had me at spandex. You had me at spandex!" The two collapsed into laughter, the grave tone of the conversation broken. Abruptly, though, Richie stopped.

"Hey V?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's make a pact right now never to tell anyone we can quote 'Jerry Maguire', okay?" Virgil paused in his chortles as well, considering the consequences if that ever got out.

"Deal," he agreed. Then Richie sat up, attempting to push his thoroughly mussed hair into some kind of order. He glanced over into the closet mirror and grimaced, quickly looking away.

"Oh hey!" he said suddenly, jumping up off the floor. "You've got to open your present!" Virgil sat up as well, his eyes straying automatically to the box that, in his future had come to be a symbol of the worst day of his life.

_Who's here for Richard Foley?_

_Looking up to see an imposing man in a bright white coat standing in the door of the waiting room. Stands up automatically with Richie's parents, then hesitates, nearly sitting down again. Rush of relief as Mrs. Foley grabs his hand, shooting a quelling glance at her husband._

"Uh, that's okay, Rich…I can wait 'til Christmas."

_Mr. and Mrs. Foley, if you'd follow me—the boy can wait here._

_Shoots a pleading glance at his father, who merely shakes his head, leaving the decision up to the Foleys._

_Virgil is Richie's best friend…they're practically brothers. He can hear this, if he wants to._

_Trying to communicate his gratitude to Mrs. Foley with his eyes alone, as he can't speak past the lump in his throat._

_Folks, we've done everything we can. Richie's injuries were extensive, but most worrying is the blow to the head. Mr. and Mrs. Foley, your son's skull was fractured in three places._

"Nah, c'mon…I wanna see the look on your face."

_Moves with Mr. Foley to catch Richie's mother as her legs give out. Can't remember hearing a human make such a terrible sound of despair. Can't even call it a sob._

_Now, we managed to relieve the pressure on his brain, but…I'm sorry, there's no chance that there wasn't some brain damage. We won't know how extensive the injury was until the swelling goes down. He slipped into a coma during surgery._

_W-when will he wake up?_

_Mr. Foley's hands are shaking, tears standing out in his eyes._

_Flash of sympathy on the doctor's face, and Virgil feels something inside of him shatter, pain beyond words swelling up within him._

_We don't know, Mr. Foley. He might never wake up._

"V, please? I got my present early. Mine isn't nearly as awesome, now, but…I really think you're gonna like it."

Richie looked so hopeful, so excited. Virgil couldn't say no, even if the thought of touching the gift that was the last thing Richie would ever give him. He didn't want to think about the things that present would remind him of. Still, he shrugged and held his hands out for the box. If Richie wanted him to open it, then he would open it.

He held the box in his lap for a few moments, just looking at the familiar polka-dotted pattern on the paper, and the shiny green ribbon. How many times had he sat in just this position over the years? Every Christmas for ten years, after he had left Richie's hospital room, he had found himself sitting with this box in his hands, reliving the horrible night over and over again. He had tried to open this box many times in his life, but had never quite managed it.

He almost didn't want to, now. The box had come to represent so much to Virgil…to open it and reveal the CD or computer game it surely was would cheapen it, somehow. Virgil wasn't sure he was ready to face the thing beneath the wrapping; sure it would be more bitter than sweet. He didn't know if he could bear it. It was all a moot point, though, because Richie was practically vibrating beside him, and Virgil couldn't think of any plausible excuse for not wanting to open the present.

Carefully hiding his dubious expression from his friend, he pulled at the green ribbon on top. His habit of opening presents slowly and carefully always drove Richie crazy…which was why he always did it. This time, though, his seeming reluctance had nothing to do with teasing the young man beside him. The ribbon fell away, and he began pulling at the tape on top, peeling each piece one by one. Beside him, he knew Richie was rolling his eyes and shaking his head. He didn't even have to look.

The paper fell away as well, revealing a plain white box, about the size of a large shoebox. He still expected it to be a CD or a game of some sort…Richie was the type to put mounds and mounds of tissue paper around a rather small gift just for a laugh. When he pulled the lid off, though, he was surprised to see a mound of thick, slightly shiny, black cloth. He turned questioning eyes to Richie, who merely shrugged, and gestured for him to take the cloth out of the box.

"It's…it's a coat." It was nearly an exact copy of the trench coat he wore as Static. Richie smacked his own forehead lightly and shook his head.

"V, gimme some credit here! That's a coat the way Niagara Falls is a water feature. Try it on!" Virgil cocked an eyebrow, but obligingly stood up and slipped the garment on. It was lighter than his current costume. He turned around to see Richie still sporting that 'kid-in-a-candy-store' look he got when he was showing off one of his new inventions.

"Okay, bro, I give. Tell me all about the special features."

"Well, Mr. Hawkins, I'm glad you asked. The cloth like substance this garment consists of is actually the next generation of Kevlar, due to start being mass produced for our fine police force in order to better protect them from the new challenges presented by the bang babies. Naturally, I tweaked the chemical composition of the fibers a little, not as easy as it sounds with the equipment available in the average school science lab, by the way. This sucker is heat-resistant, totally waterproof, will stop a bullet cold and, if you will note, sewn into the hem are five, count them five, separate battery packs, each capable of generating a 280 kilowatt charge in case of accidental shortage. All in an attractive black ensemble with optional dramatic billowing capability."

"Richie---you _made_ this?" Virgil was stunned. Richie ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck absently.

"Well…Backpack helped a little. You should have seen my mom's face when I asked her to show me how to sew a hem."

"Rich, this must have taken weeks! And wait a minute, how'd you get a hold of this Kevlar stuff if it hasn't come out yet?"

"Who do you think came up with the formula? Gear gets calls from R & D teams all over the world. I figured I could help out a few of Dakota's finest, and get you a kick ass present all at once. So, you like?"

"Like? Richie, this is awesome!" In more ways than one. It touched him in ways he couldn't describe to know that Richie had expended so much effort and thought on something for Virgil. He could picture Richie in the gas station, bent over his workbench, analyzing battle after battle and ruthlessly ticking off each and every weakness in their defenses. How many hours had he spent finding ways to eliminate those weaknesses, how many calculations and computations had he spent finding ways to make sure Virgil was as safe as possible during battle? Now that he thought about it, he could remember weeks before this Christmas when Richie had seemed more tired than patrol should have accounted for.

There was a more practical side to Virgil's astonishment, as well. Offhand, Virgil could think of half a dozen battles just in the past year that something like this could have made a major difference in. The Justice League was well-armed, and they all took their personal safety very seriously…but Virgil had never met anyone who could think in the patterns that Richie's mind had worked in. He couldn't even imagine what the Watchtower would have been able to become had Richie gotten his hands on it.

"/_That's how it should have been…both of us, partners 'til the end. He should have been a part of the League, too./_" Such thoughts sent a new stab of pain through his heart, though, and he shoved them away.

He had Richie, for now. He had until Christmas Eve to show Richie just how much he had always loved him, and always would. Impulsively, he leaned over and kissed Richie again, feeling the thrill of the freedom he now had to do such things.

"Hey," Richie laughingly protested after a moment, though he didn't move away from Virgil. "No fair starting things you aren't gonna finish." The laughter quickly disappeared though. "You're right though…we should wait. I don't want to mess this up. There's no need to rush."

Virgil closed his eyes briefly as the irony of that statement hit him. There was, indeed, reason to rush. But he'd seen too many of their friends' relationships fizzle to want to risk tainting the time he had left with Richie with disappointment or awkwardness. He leaned his forehead against Richie's and they stood that way for a long moment.

"This is gonna be the best Christmas, ever," Richie murmured quietly, and again Virgil felt that twisting pain in his heart.

"/_No, Richie…it's really, really not_./"

"I better go. Mom's expecting me." Richie made no move to step away, though. Virgil was suddenly seized with an irrational urge to hold him fast, to just refuse to let go. He couldn't, though…no matter what else had happened, the past hours had shown him that he would have to let go of Richie, eventually. Reluctantly, they parted with one final, sweet kiss. Richie smiled at him and headed for the door, leaving Virgil to strip out of the coat.

"Richie! Uh, wait…you're coming over tomorrow, right?" Richie turned back and saluted smartly.

"Wouldn't miss it!"

* * *

Virgil stowed the coat in the depths of his closet, closed the door and leaned wearily against it.

"You, uh, don't look as happy as I thought you would." Virgil didn't turn around, merely sighed heavily.

"Faith…I need to ask you something. And I need you to tell me the truth."

"O…kay." Finally, Virgil turned to face the angel, who was sitting cross-legged on his bed, an unreadable expression on her face.

"That was probably the best hour of my life. I did it…I told him I love him, and he loves me back. You were right. This is a gift, Faith…the most amazing gift I've ever gotten."

Faith smiled gently, happiness shining from her dark eyes. "I'm so glad you feel that way, Virgil."

"So I gotta know something," Virgil continued, as though she hadn't spoken. "Why now?"

"Why now, what?"

"Why did it take ten years for you to decide to give me this? Why are you doing this for me, now?"

"Ummmm…" Faith averted her eyes, and Virgil sighed again.

"I'm not going to have anymore time with him, am I?" He was proud of how steady his voice sounded.

"I—Virgil…"

"I knew it was just a matter of time…I mean, the doctors always told us to be prepared. You…you can't keep people alive on machines, forever."

"Virgil, I'm so sorry."

"Just…just—will it hurt? Will he be in pain?"

"No!" Faith said quickly. "No, Virgil I swear…it'll be easy. He won't feel anything."

Virgil nodded, faintly. He went to the bed and sank down beside her.

"Promise me something, Faith."

"If I can," she agreed softly.

"Promise you'll take me back before it happens. Promise me I'll be there with him."

"Virgil, I don't know if—"

"Faith, please! I can't let him be alone." He couldn't look at her, instead staring straight ahead and willing himself to remain calm.

"You have my word," she whispered finally.

"Thank you."

"Virgil—"

"Don't, Faith. I've still got until tomorrow night. I've got a little over twenty four hours. I'm going to make them the best of our lives."


	7. Chapter 7A

Hello all. Okay, I lied. I couldn't sleep tonight, and decided to finish this up. The story is mostly done...but there are a few loose ends I need to tie up. There will be an epilogue that should answer anyone's final questions. Look for that sometime mid-week. Happy reading!

* * *

Virgil had not thought he would be able to sleep at all after Faith left. Eventually, though, sheer exhaustion had won out, and he had tossed fitfully through uneasy dreams the rest of the night. He woke early, years of working with the Bat having considerably lessened the amount of sleep he needed in order to function. For a moment, he lay in his bed, wondering how the hell he had ended up in Jamie's room.

Then he remembered—his nephew would not be born for another seven years. It was still his room, now.

He sat up slowly, the memories flooding back to him. The hospital, Faith, her incredible gift to him…and the hours with Richie yesterday. Virgil's smile threatened to split his face. He had done it. He had actually done it—he had told his best friend how he felt about him…and those feelings had been returned, wholeheartedly. Richie loved him.

Richie, who was soon to die in Virgil's real time.

As quickly as the joy in his heart had bloomed, it faded as he at last remembered the conversation with Faith last night. She had confirmed his worst fears, what he begun to suspect in his heart of hearts almost as soon as Faith had explained her gift.

Richie was going to die tonight.

After ten years of watching his love slowly waste away, Virgil was going to lose him for good.

"But not yet," he said aloud. "Not yet." He looked over at his bedside clock. Seven in the morning. In seventeen hours, Faith was going to take him back to his time. Seventeen hours until he would have to return to that hospital room and watch his beloved breathe his last.

Seventeen hours in which he would not think about what was coming.

What he had told Faith last night had been true. He was not going to waste these precious hours with his friend dwelling on what he couldn't change. Later, he would allow the grief that was lurking on the edges of his mind to overwhelm him. For now, he would do everything he could to make these hours count, and store up as many memories as he could. Enough to last him a lifetime.

Starting right now.

He rolled out of bed and immediately dived for his telephone, dialing the number from memory undimmed even after ten years. It rang four times before it was finally picked up.

"_Uh_?"

"Richie, it's me. You awake, man?"

"_No_." There was a click, and Virgil was left with the dial tone ringing in his ear.

"Oh no you don't." He hit the redial button. This time it rung seven times and Virgil grinned to himself, picturing Richie sprawled across his bed, the pillow clutched tightly over his head as he tried to block out the sound.

"_V, I'm going to kick your ass when I see you_." Richie's voice was still thick with sleep. Virgil laughed.

"I thought you had plans for that. What d'ya wanna go damaging it for?"

Richie was silent for a moment, then groaned loudly.

"_And thank you so much for making my morning wood a truly painful experience today. Did you want something, or did you just call to torment me?"_ Richie sounded more awake now, and Virgil could tell his irritation was entirely feigned.

"What do you want to do today?"

"_Huh_?"

"You heard me. What do you want to do today?"

"_What we always do…we'll rent tons of cheesy horror flicks before Video Gallery closes for the holiday, pig out on popcorn, and then get our party on later tonight_."

"Aw c'mon, man, we do that every year. Don't you want to do something special?"

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment. When Richie spoke, Virgil could practically hear the warm smile in Richie's voice.

"_V, it'll just be you and me. That will be special. Besides, what would we do? Almost everything is closed today, and I don't want to go somewhere where we'll have to be careful anyway_."

It was Virgil's turn to be silent. He hadn't thought of that. Anywhere they went today; Richie would feel obligated to act as though they were still best friends, nothing more. Virgil didn't care one way or the other, but he would never be able to convince Richie to go along with it.

"Oh…yeah, I guess you're right." Virgil couldn't keep the disappointment out of his voice. Richie chuckled dryly on the other end.

"_I'd also planned on getting some quality necking in, if you're up for it_."

"Hmmm, I guess I could be convinced."

"_Oh, good. I wasn't going to take no for an answer, anyway_."

"Well, in that case, I guess I'd better go along with it."

"_Ah, good, I'm glad we see eye to eye on this_."

"You wanna come over for breakfast?"

"_Yeah, what the heck? I'm already awake anyway_." Virgil was pleased to note, though, that Richie sounded as excited as he felt.

"Cool. See you in a few, then."

"_All right. Bye."_

"See ya." Virgil hung up the telephone and flopped back down on his mattress, staring up at the ceiling.

"Hey." He raised his head slightly and sketched a wave at Faith, who was standing by his closet door. The black and red outfit of yesterday had been replaced by a funky art print t-shirt and faded jeans. She didn't look anything like he had thought an angel would look. "You want wings and robes? I can do wings and robes," she muttered, as though she had heard the thought. She probably had.

"Don't go to any trouble on my account," Virgil replied.

"Oh good, I won't then." She crossed the room and plopped down on the foot of his bed, drawing one knee up against her chest.

"Big plans, today?"

"Yes and no. We're not doing anything really spectacular…but we are." He waved one hand vaguely in the air, and Faith nodded sagely.

"Anything is special when you're with the person you love," she intoned wisely.

"Yeah." Faith sighed quietly, and her features twisted into an expression of faint displeasure. Virgil frowned and sat up again. "Faith?"

"I know you don't want to think about this, but we have to talk about tonight."

"Faith—"

"Virgil, please…I have to make sure you understand how this works. Then, I promise, you don't have to see me again for the rest of the day."

Virgil closed his eyes, and nodded wearily. "All right, hit me."

"It's a pretty simple deal. Everything will progress as you remember it happening the last time you lived through this. The bang baby will appear in the industrial park at around ten p.m., Static and Gear will get word at eleven or so. You'll go up against him at about eleven fifteen. After that…"

"After that, I have to let Richie die," Virgil said flatly.

"You can't interfere," Faith agreed. Her voice was terribly sad.

"When will you take me back?" he asked quietly.

"A few minutes before midnight."

"That's it?! I only have a few minutes to say goodbye?!"

"I'm sorry."

Virgil shook his head, and pounded his fist into the mattress a few times. He could deal with this...he could. He could fall apart later.

"I—I understand." He did…but that didn't make things any easier. Faith reached out and cupped his cheek gently, in one hand.

"Try to enjoy today, dear. I know it will be difficult, but just remember how much you love him, and are loved in return. I'll be watching if you need me."

* * *

He took Faith's advice to heart.

The first time around, he and Richie had wasted the entire day before the party sitting in front of the TV—watching poorly made horror films and playing video games. It had been fun, but hardly a remarkable day in their lives. Virgil had always wished that they had done something more, that he had appreciated the time he had with his friend more.

This time, he did not make the mistake of taking Richie for granted.

They still spent the day in Virgil's room, watching bad horror films and, as Richie had wanted, pigging out on popcorn and candy.

It was still a day of relaxed fun, but Virgil was well aware of the clock ticking down each moment. So, he did what he had always wished he had done the first time…he made more of each second.

They talked about everything that came to mind, neither mentioning anything that had anything to do with Static or Gear. They spoke of plans for college, critiqued the makeup effects of one particularly cheesy movie, discussed their relationships with their families, mapped out the dynamics of the perfect crank call, and argued about who would win a battle royal between Spider-Man and Wolverine.

Virgil committed everything to memory—hanging onto every word, taking in every gesture and expression, determined that not a single thing should escape his notice. This was all he had left.

He wasted no opportunity to touch his friend, either, drawing him close from the moment he entered the house, and refusing to let Richie stray more than a few inches away. The day was filled with badly disguised gropes, gentle caresses, and sweet kisses. Virgil strove to take it all in, to memorize every inch of Richie he was allowed to touch. This was all he had left.

"Virg?" Richie mumbled finally, slumped half on a bean bag, head resting on Virgil's lap.

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad you kissed me last night."

"Yeah. Me, too."

"This is going to last, isn't it? I mean, we're in it to the end, right?"

Virgil drew in a deep breath, willing his voice steady. "Yeah, Rich, 'til the end." He ran his fingers through the soft, blond hair and tried to ignore the sting in his eyes. "/_To the end, bro…I promise_./"

Some time later, Virgil snapped awake. His eyes shot wildly around the room. The TV had rolled to a blue screen as the tape they had been watching had run out, and the room was dark around them. He and Richie were still sprawled across the two beanbags they had crashed in, curled up together in a tangle of limbs. Richie's head had ended up resting on Virgil's chest, and he pulled his friend closer, closing his eyes again. How long had they been asleep? He turned Richie's wrist so he could see the watch, and sat bolt upright. It was seven thirty!

"Huh? Whazzit?" Richie groaned as he was unceremoniously dumped onto the floor.

"/Stupid, stupid, stupid! How could you fall asleep!/" Virgil berated himself.

"Geez, it's late! I'm surprised your dad didn't wake us up. Man, Mom'll be here soon to help you guys start setting up." Richie stretched languorously, arching his back until it popped. "V, you okay?" he asked suddenly, as he noticed the stricken expression on the other boy's face.

"I—I can't believe we fell asleep!" Virgil exclaimed. Richie grinned wryly.

"Okay, not the most exciting date I've ever been on, but I could get used to waking up like this. Except for the crick in my back. Ow." Richie rubbed the offending section of muscle awkwardly. Then his expression turned to one of concern. "Virg…it's okay. I'm touched that you wanted today to be special, but don't get all bent out of shape about it."

"Richie, man, you don't understand!" He had less than five hours now.

"Sure I do, V, and I'm telling you, don't sweat it. I had fun today. If I'm not mistaken, so did you. We have plenty of time for real dates…today I just wanted to be with you." Richie leaned over and pecked Virgil on the mouth, then stood up, cracking his back again as he went. "Now come on…I don't know about you, but I'm starved. Let's go see if Sharon'll let us taste anything." With that, he ambled out of the room, obviously expecting Virgil to follow. Virgil sat frozen for a moment, staring after him.

"That's just it, Richie…we _don't_ have time."

* * *

Virgil had always had fun at his parents' annual Christmas Eve parties. There was good food to be had, great music, laughter, friends, and presents. What wasn't there to like? He had fond memories of weaving through the throng of adults in the living room, Richie usually at his heels, getting into any mischief that was to be had and just generally having a good time.

This party was torture.

He knew he was starting to worry his father and Sharon, and had started worrying Richie nearly an hour ago, but he couldn't help it. Every second that ticked by, h could feel like a noose tightening around his neck. It was nearly nine now…only another hour before the bang baby would make his entrance. Another hour after that until Backpack would pick up the activity at the industrial park on its sensors. Richie would pull him aside, tell him what was happening, and together they would sneak away to take care of the problem.

Only it hadn't ended up like that.

He stayed as close to Richie as he possibly could, to the point where he knew I was starting to make Richie nervous. He couldn't help himself, though. He hadn't seen Faith since she had left him that morning, and wasn't sure if he wanted to. On the one hand, he had taken a great deal of comfort in being able to talk to her…but on the other hand, when he saw her again, she was going to take him back to his time.

Time marched on. He couldn't stop it, no matter how much he might wish to.

Ten o'clock came and went, and it was all Virgil could do to keep from vomiting on the floor. He and Richie happened to be in the kitchen, just before the clock chimed eleven, hiding from Sharon's attempt to get them to start a sing-along.

With a final, despairing look at the clock, Virgil pulled Richie close and kissed him, uncaring of who might walk in and see them. He tried desperately to put all his love, all his longing into the kiss, knowing full well it might be the last time he was ever able to touch Richie like this.

"Mmph, Virg…Virgil! What is _with_ you, man? You've been jumpier than Ebon at a light show all night!"

The clock chimed eleven. A high-pitched beeping sounded from Richie's pocket.

Richie immediately pulled back, jerking a small, pager-like device from his pocket. He read a rapidly scrolling stream of data on the device, a frown slowly deepening on his face. Virgil closed his eyes and turned away.

"It's Backpack," Richie declared after a moment. "It's got a bead on something going down at the industrial park. Looks like a bang baby…huh, I don't recognize these readings."

"S-so it's not Ebon, or Hotstreak?"

"Nope…don't know who it is. Dang, you'd think we'd run out of these guys eventually."

"Let the cops handle it!" Virgil said suddenly, desperation tingeing his voice. Richie literally looked at him as though he had grown a second head, his mouth hanging open.

"You're joking, right? V, this probably won't be much of a problem for us, but he could make mincemeat out of a bunch of cops! They haven't gotten that new body armor, yet, remember? Backpack's reading a lot of concussive energy out there."

"Richie—"

"C'mon, V, we can be there and back before they're finished with the Christmas carols. This guy doesn't look so tough."

Virgil barely choked back a scream.

Richie slapped his arm, lightly, then turned and jogged back through the swinging door that led to the living room. When the door swung closed, again, Faith was standing behind it.

"You can't change things, Virgil. You know that," she said quietly.

"I can't do this! I can't let him go, Faith."

"V, c'mon!" Richie poked his head back into the kitchen, frowning at his friend.

"You have to go, Virgil…there's no other way." She was gone again.

Virgil was left with no choice but to follow Richie.


	8. Chapter 7B

Hello again...no, this is not the epilogue. Just the second part of the last chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

It should have been easy. The bang baby was no different than any of another dozen similar unfortunates they had faced in the years since Virgil had become Static. He was big, ugly, and, as Richie quickly pointed out, stupid.

This bang baby had proven to have a nasty surprise in addition to being big, ugly, and stupid. Virgil ducked yet another bolt of sickly green energy, hearing it impact with shattering force in the metal wall of the building a few hundred yards behind him. He had thrown bolt after bolt of his own at the guy…but very little seemed to get through the thick skin.

Just like before.

Richie was having better luck with some of his most powerful grenades. Virgil's heart climbed a little higher in his throat every time he saw Richie dance in a little closer to the bang baby to let fly with his gadgets. As before, Richie had the bang baby throwing bolts out blindly, with absolutely no strategy to it.

"Geez, they grow them big and stupid these days! What d'ya think?"

The bang baby, failing to his Richie with its energy bolts, began hurling anything that came to hand. Bricks, bits of metal, lumber; the air was soon filled with debris.

Just like before.

"I think you can take him down with a nova blast, Static! I'm gonna go in with Big Bertha…I've been dying to see how she works out. I'll set him up; you knock him down. On the count of three, okay, bro?"

"/_No, damn it! Not okay_!/" But there was nothing he could do. He had to accept what was going to happen next. He moved in, as he had before, picking up speed as he nimbly dodged the flying rubble in the air. Time seemed to slow as he saw Richie move in closer, raising his latest gadget, laughingly dubbed "Big Bertha", high over his head. This was it.

To hell with it.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't stand by and let Richie be hurt. He propelled himself forward with new speed. Whatever the consequences, he had to try to save his love.

"Virgil!" Suddenly, he wasn't moving. He hung in midair, suspended not by his own power, but something more. The air around him was dead silent, and he stared around him in silent awe. He was the only thing moving…everything else was frozen. There were bits of debris hanging in the air around him, birds stopped in mid-flight. Not even a breath of wind stirred around him. He turned to the front again and found himself face to face with Faith. "Virgil, I can't let you do this. You know the rules."

He didn't answer.

He couldn't.

Faith stared at him in concern for a few brief seconds, before she realized that he was not looking at her at all. Frowning, she spun in the air to follow his line of sight. She sucked in an unneeded breath at what she saw.

"No…" Virgil began, and she had never once, even at his most forlorn, heard such despair in his voice. She spun around again.

"Virgil—"

"No. Please, no…tell me it's not true Faith," he pleaded. "Tell me I'm wrong!"

Behind and below them, Gear and the bang baby were frozen in battle. Gear, however, was on the ground. He was lying on the cold ground, face down. His helmet was half-askew, dented inwards, and there was already a pool of blood forming under his head. The shattered pieces of a cinderblock lay all around his head, and it didn't take a genius to realize they were looking at the cause of the injury that had sent Richie into an unending sleep, a slow, wasting death. His final grenade had been launched, but not at the bang baby.

The grenade had been hurtling towards Static's position. More precisely, at the similarly frozen bolt of the bang baby's energy aiming right for him. The bang baby had thrown it at such an angle that Static, focused as he was on dodging the other debris in the air, would not have seen it until it was too late.

Faith closed her eyes.

Virgil felt as though he was falling headlong into a bottomless pit. He remembered now, the force that had thrown him to the ground. He had never been able to figure out why he had fallen the first time around. Now he knew. Gear had thrown the only ready defense he had against the bang baby away from the battle, to save Static. The bolt would likely have killed him had it hit. It was the concussive force of Richie's gadget that had thrown him off his disc. Virgil thought he might throw up. He threw his mask up to face the angel in front of him without its obscuring anything.

"For me? All this, because of me?" he whimpered. When had he started crying? The tears were coming fast and furious now, though, great, heaving sobs that shook his whole body.

"Virgil, it was his choice—"

"No, damn you! He..he s-sacrificed himself to s-save me. It-it should have b-been me! It should have been me!"

"Virgil-"

"Why'd you let him?! W-Why should h-he die for me? It was s-supposed to be me!"

"It was Fated. He had a choice, Virgil…he could have saved you or he could have protected himself. He chose to save you. He didn't even think about it…he loved you that much," Faith said solemnly. There were tears of her own standing in her eyes.

Virgil shook his head violently. "Get out of my way," he growled. "Let me go."

A few tears spilled down her cheeks as Faith complied, moving aside. Virgil found himself able to move forward again, and he wasted no time, directing his disc downwards, through the still-frozen debris. He leaped off the disc as soon as he was close enough to ground, uncaring of where it fell, and ran the final few feet to fall on his knees by Richie's side. Faith appeared on the opposite side, but remained silent. She made a small gesture, and whatever power was holding everything still released Richie.

Gently, ever so gently, Virgil turned his friend over, pulling him up to cradle Richie's head in his lap. "Why did you do that, bro?" he sobbed. He pulled the ruined remains of Richie's helmet off his head, knowing he couldn't hurt Richie any further than he already had been hurt.

Backpack, miraculously unhurt, disengaged from Richie's back and crawled out from under his body, as if it wanted to make its owner as comfortable as possible. A soft, whirring sound erupted from the little machine, and Virgil realized that it was probably hacking into the 911 mainframe of the city, summoning help.

Too late.

_Your son't skull was fractured in three places_.

Desperately, he took the bottom hem of his shirt in his hands and ripped it, quickly using the resulting strip to try and staunch the flow of blood from the huge gash on Richie's head. "Not for me, Richie…you shouldn't have done this for me." He leaned over, touching his forehead to Richie's as he had last night, a lifetime ago. He moved to brush a soft kiss across Richie's lips, tasting the coppery tang of blood in his mouth.

_W-When will he wake up?_

_We don't know, Mr. Foley. He might never wake up._

_You can't change Fate, Virgil._

Finally, he looked up at Faith. The angel actually recoiled at his expression, one hand going to her chest, as she had done the first time she had seen him. "It should have been me," Virgil said grimly. "I should have died tonight. Instead, Richie's been dying for ten years." He looked back down at his love, and gently stroked the fringe of blond bangs that had drifted across Richie's forehead. "Take me instead."

"What?!"

Virgil looked up at her again, his dark eyes bleak. "You heard me. Let me take his place. You said it was Fated…fine! Let it be me." He reached up and roughly dashed the tears from his eyes. "You want a life, take mine!"

"Virgil!"

"Do you understand what you are offering, young man?"

Both he and Faith whipped towards the new voice. Virgil crouched further over Richie as he caught sight of the imposing man standing over all three of them. The man looked to be in his mid-fifties, with long, iron-grey hair and striking blue eyes. He was dressed in an impeccable grey linen suit; and was watching them with a stern, foreboding expression.

"Gideon!" Faith gasped. Virgil darted a glance over at her, before resettling his attention on the man.

"You know him?" he asked tersely.

"He's…he's kind of my boss. A mentor, if you will. Gideon, what are you—"

Gideon raised one hand, and Faith instantly fell silent, watching him with wide, confused eyes. "I say again, do you understand what you are offering?"

Virgil looked to Faith for guidance, but she shrugged helplessly. He turned back to Gideon, and nodded solemnly. "Yes, sir. I do."

Gideon crossed his arms in front of him, and raised one eyebrow gravely. "Done."

"Gideon!"

"Quiet, Faith," Gideon said harshly, still staring at Virgil. "If you truly wish to take on young Richard's Fate, then I will allow it."

"Just like that?" Virgil asked in disbelief. "I can save him?" Hope, bright and beautiful, flared in his heart.

Faith, too, was staring at her "mentor" in disbelief. Virgil was faintly alarmed, however, to see the edge of something else in her eyes. It was not happy disbelief…it was more of a look of 'how could you?' He knew in his heart that Faith had _always_ been on his side…why would she be upset?

"Yes, Virgil. You can save _him_," Gideon said quietly. Virgil did not miss the emphasis. The hope began to wither.

"What's the catch?" he asked suspiciously.

"Faith?" Gideon said, his gaze never wavering from Virgil's.

"Gideon, please this is—"

"Faith!" She broke off, staring at Gideon as if he had just struck her. Then she closed her eyes and lowered her head.

"They…they'll allow you to take Richie's place, Virgil. It…it will be you who suffers these injuries. You who spends the next ten years in a coma…you who dies finally on Christmas Eve in the future."

"I understand, Faith." He could do it…for Richie, he could do it.

"No, Virgil, you don't! It will be as though the past ten years never happened…as though nothing you've done over those years ever happened. As though nothing _Static_ has done over those years ever happened."

Finally, finally, he realized why Faith had looked so upset. Instantly, his mind started supplying him with replays of the battles he had fought, the accomplishments he had made over that decade. How many people had he saved? How many disasters had he averted, or helped to avert?

The angels saw the comprehension dawning in his eyes, and Faith turned away, wrapping her arms around her middle. Gideon nodded grimly.

"How many people?" he asked.

"Virgil, you have touched literally thousands of lives. It is impossible to calculate how many of those lives would be altered, if you choose to do this," Gideon said, his words even and clipped.

"But you'd still let me?"

"It is your choice. If you are truly willing to sacrifice yourself so that Richard may live, yes, it will be allowed."

Virgil looked down at Richie, already growing pale and cold in his arms. He looked at the bloodstained rag he was pressing to Richie's scalp, at the blood staining his hands. He knew he would give anything for this person, endure any pain if it meant keeping Richie safe.

Anything that was his to give.

"That's no choice, at all," Virgil murmured. Faith turned around again, and the tear tracks on her face made Virgil's heart hurt. She truly cared for him, cared for his pain.

"My life isn't mine to give, is it? It belongs to the people I've helped…the people I chose to serve. I can't risk them…Richie wouldn't want me to."

For the first time, Gideon's forbidding expression softened. "So you will not take his place?"

"I would. I would in a heartbeat…but I can't. You know I can't." It was the hardest thing he had ever said. Yet, he knew it was right. It was what Richie would have wanted.

Gideon bowed slightly at the waist, and Faith shook her head miserably. Ignoring them both, Virgil lurched to his feet, leaned down, and hefted Richie's limp body into his arms. He staggered away from the building, knowing its battle-weakened structurewould begin its collapse as soon as Faith let time go back to normal, sealing the bang baby's fate. He took Richie to a safe distance, and collapsed to his knees again, still holding the body of his best friend and lover close.

"Take me back, Faith," he whispered, knowing the angel would hear him. "It's time to finish this."

Faith, indeed, heard his wish. She moved towards the two boys, new tears welling in her eyes. As she passed her mentor, she glared up at him, anger and disappointment turning her eyes glittering obsidian. "That was cruel, Gideon. That was just cruel. You knew he would never accept," she spat.

Gideon bowed again, not responding to her words.

Feeling as though she had never known her mentor at all, Faith continued towards Virgil and Richie. She still had to take Virgil back to his own time.

Just in time to watch Richie die.

* * *

The trip really was worse when you were expecting it.

Virgil landed on the hard floor, dizzy and sick from whatever Faith had done to bring him back to his time. He lay there for a moment, gasping for breath and trying to quell the nausea in his gut. Perhaps, though, those had nothing to do with the trip. He took silent stock of himself, and knew that he had indeed returned to his adult body. Without looking, he knew that Faith was nowhere to be seen.

He shakily climbed to his knees, resting his forehead on the cool tile floor, delaying what he had to do for as long as possible. Finally, though, he forced himself to climb to his feet, and focus his gaze on the bed.

It was the cruelest of cruelties to look at Richie now, when the memory of how he had once been was so newly fresh in Virgil's mind. New sobs rose to his throat as he took in that ravaged body, that only moments ago he had held in his arms. He looked up to the clock on the wall, and a cold chill swept through him at the sight of the face.

Five minutes to midnight.

He sank back down to his knees, and reached up to grip Richie's hand. Five minutes to say goodbye. It wasn't enough time. There was not time enough in the world for him to say all the things he wanted to say.

"I'm sorry; Rich…I'm so sorry I couldn't save you. I would have done anything to save you, Richie. Anything. But…but I know you wouldn't have wanted me to take the road Gideon offered me. I swear I'd have given anything to keep you safe."

Three minutes.

"Those two days were the best of my life," Virgil whispered. "You were everything I ever wanted, Richie, everything. You'll always be everything to me. I've missed you, Rich…I've missed you so much. Nothing's ever been right since you were hurt. I've tried to move on, but I can't. You're a part of _me_, too. You always were."

Two minutes.

"I love you, Richie. I've always loved you. I always will." He leaned down and kissed dry, chapped lips a final time, moved up to kiss the pale forehead.

One minute.

"You wait for me, okay? Please, wait for me."

An alarm sounded from one of the machines by Richie's bedside. From down the hall by the nurse's station, Virgil heard a cry of alarm, followed by the pounding of feet.

"Goodbye, Richie."

The heart monitor beeped once, twice, and rose in that final, monotonous tone, signaling that the heartbeat had stopped.

Richie was gone.


	9. Epilogue

Hello dears,

Ah, sweet internet access...how I've missed you! Back in business :) Here's the promised epilogue...I just want to say how heartily sorry I am to everyone who was hoping I would somehow save Richie. I felt bad writing it, but honestly, that was the only way the story would go. :( If you can stand a little more angsting...I had to finish the journey for Virgil. Hopefully, you won't be too disappointed with the ending.

* * *

Virgil was numb.

He knew he should be doing something…he should be calling his father and Sharon, who were spending the holiday with Adam's parents here in New York. His father had promised to swing by the hospital when the kids were in bed. No need to, now. He should be trying to get in touch with the Foleys before the hospital could—they didn't deserve to hear that their son had finally died from a stranger. He could at least assure Richie's mother that he had been there, had held Richie's hand at the end. It had been their worst fear…that Richie would someday slip away from them in the night, with no one by his side. At least he had been able to do that much.

He couldn't bring himself to move for the phone, though. He couldn't bring himself to move, period. He had made it back to his apartment, half an hour by cab as he hadn't trusted himself to fly, stumbled through the door, and made it five steps towards his bedroom before his legs simply refused to work anymore. He sat where he had fallen, nearly an hour before, staring blankly into space and wondering how things would ever be okay again.

He should get in touch with the Watchtower…tell them that he'd be out of action for at least a week. There'd be things to take care of—people to contact, services to be held. He'd have to talk to the Foleys about funeral arrangements. He'd be one of the pallbearers, of course.

He'd have to go to Richie's funeral.

Suddenly, his legs worked again.

Virgil bolted across the length of his apartment, skidding to his knees in front of the toilet scant seconds before his stomach emptied itself of everything he had eaten that day. He retched violently until there was nothing more to come up. Even then, the spasms wouldn't cease. He tasted bile in his mouth and then there was nothing but dry heaves. How long he stayed like that, he didn't know, but when it was over he felt as weak as a kitten, completely drained.

He didn't even have the energy to cry, anymore.

He hitched himself to his feet and flushed the mess in the toilet, then made his way shakily to the bedroom. In a daze, he kicked his shoes off and collapsed on the bed, drawing the patchwork quilt Sharon and Adam had purchased for him when he went away to college tightly around his body. He was so cold.

Dimly, some part of him recognized that he was in shock, but he couldn't bring himself to care. It wouldn't kill him. And if it did, what did it matter?

He'd let Richie die.

He'd had the chance to save his beloved friend, and he had passed it up in order to save a bunch of strangers. What else could he have done, though? It was something he and Richie had realized shortly after their sophomore year, when Static had really begun to make a name for himself…their lives were no longer their own. It was the price they paid for their powers, for the opportunity to help people—the needs of those they served would forever outweigh their own. He couldn't trade the lives of those countless people for Richie's, no matter how much he might have wanted to. That wasn't what being a hero was about. That wasn't something Richie would have stood for.

It didn't make things any easier. It didn't change the fact that Richie had sacrificed himself for Virgil; it didn't make Virgil feel any less like he had Richie's blood on his hands.

It didn't change the fact that it should have been him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered brokenly, praying that wherever his friend was now, he would somehow hear. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

Faith watched Virgil slowly fall apart, never more than a foot or two away from him and yet not revealing herself. Silently, she argued with herself about whether or not to materialize. She had left Virgil alone with Richie for Richie's final moments, but had reappeared in the hospital room as soon as the clock began to chime twelve.

Virgil's expression had frightened her.

There had been tear tracks streaking down his face, but as the final alarms had sounded in Richie's room, he had been dry eyed. He had stood like a stone as the night shift doctors had swarmed Richie's room, refusing to be moved from his friend's side no matter who tried to make him step back. In the end, the doctors had been forced to work around him, struggling to get Richie's heart to beat again, to make him draw breath.

Through it all Virgil had been silent, clutching one of Richie's hands to his chest, and just staring at his friend's pale face. It was over within a few short minutes. Virgil hadn't so much as blinked as the doctor on call had pronounced Richie dead. Then, he had raised Richie's fingers to his lips for a brief instant, and gently laid the hand across a now still chest.

Without a word, he had turned and left the room.

Faith had stuck by his side, terrified to leave him alone and yet unsure whether or not her presence would be welcome. So, she hovered near him, invisible to his eyes, and kept a silent watch. Eventually, the events of the past hours caught up with him, and Virgil slipped into a troubled sleep, tossing and turning every few moments…and reaching out towards the other side of the bed, as if trying to catch hold of someone.

"Are you going to stay here all night?"

Faith deliberately took a deep, calming breath and counted to ten before she turned to face Gideon. Her mentor had appeared in the corner farthest from Faith's position by Virgil's bed. Wise of him…at this particular time she wasn't sure she trusted herself not to slug him, and damn the consequences of such un-angel-like behavior.

"What do you care?" she asked bitterly, unable to keep the hurt in her voice from showing. Gideon had never spoken to her the way he had at the industrial park…and what he had done to Virgil—it was wrong. It was just wrong. Gideon sighed heavily.

"You're angry with me."

"No shit." It had been decades since she had used such language. If Gideon was surprised, he gave no sign.

"You have a right to be," the older angel conceded.

"Thanks so much for your permission," Faith retorted sarcastically.

"Faith—"

"How could you do that to him, Gideon? How could you offer him that, knowing he would never be able to accept it? I thought…I thought they had finally_ seen_ that Virgil and Richie deserved a miracle. What kind of game was that? That wasn't a miracle; that was torture!"

"I didn't know."

"What?"

Gideon shrugged implacably. "I didn't know that he would refuse. There are many who wouldn't have."

_"I_ could have told you," Faith muttered. Gideon nodded, once, acknowledging the fact although he didn't apologize for not asking her opinion. The two angels were silent for a moment, and then Gideon spoke again.

"You didn't fail, Faith."

"Then why did it happen like this? Look at him, Gideon! How can you tell me I didn't fail him?"

"That's the funny thing about Fate, child. Sometimes it simply can't be stopped." Gideon crossed the distance between them and placed his hand on Faith's shoulder. "There's nothing more you can do, right now. Come…we've got another assignment before dawn."

"What assignment?" She didn't want to leave Virgil like this. She wasn't sure she wanted to leave with Gideon at all. She was still so angry with him she couldn't see straight. The older angel was unperturbed by her ire, though, and merely produced a small scroll from the front pocket of his suit. Faith grit her teeth as she took it and unraveled it. She really didn't want to leave. She read the scroll quickly, and her grip on the edges got tighter and tighter with each word. When she was done, she glared up at Gideon, murder dancing in her dark gaze.

"You _are_ a rat bastard," she hissed. "How could you do this?"

"Orders, Faith. I don't make them, I just follow them."

She threw the scroll back at him, not caring if he caught it or not, and went to kneel by Virgil's bedside. Gently, she reached out and brushed one finger along his cheek, the ache in her heart growing as she saw the lines of pain on his face even in sleep. "I'm so sorry, Virgil," she whispered softly. "So, so sorry."

Then, they were gone.

* * *

Virgil didn't want to wake up. He knew something terrible was waiting for him if he woke up, though he couldn't remember exactly what. It was better to stay here in the twilight world between dreaming and awake, though…that much he knew. Unfortunately, the ringing telephone beside his bed didn't know Virgil didn't want to wake up.

He cracked one eye open and squinted at the caller ID display on the face. It was his father's cell number. What was Pops calling him at—Virgil checked the clock beside the phone—six in the morning on Christmas for? Virgil had already told them he would be at Adam's parents' house for dinner that night.

Then, the memory hit.

Virgil felt as though someone had punched him in the stomach. Richie was dead. He had died last night. Richie was dead. Without thinking, Virgil grabbed the phone and flung it as hard as he could against the opposite wall. It shattered into pieces on impact and the ringing died away. Virgil froze for a moment, just breathing heavily, before he flung himself back down on the bed and pulled the quilt over his head, as if the cover could block out the awful truth.

Richie was dead.

Richie, who had loved him back. Richie, who had sacrificed himself to save Virgil. Richie, who Virgil had been unable to save in return. Richie was dead.

"_Have yourself a merry little Christmas; let your heart be light. From now on, your troubles will be out of sight_." Virgil threw the quilt off of his face and sat upright as the sound of soft singing intruded on his senses. The familiar voice was wafting out of the kitchen, along with the scent of freshly brewed coffee.

Faith.

"_Have yourself a merry little Christmas; make the yuletide gay. From now on, your troubles will be miles away_." Virgil snorted and shook his head, bitterness and regret welling up inside of him. No—his troubles were just beginning. Richie was dead.

Why was he still so numb?

"Virgil? I…I know you're awake." Faith's singing stopped abruptly. The tentative sound of her voice stirred something vaguely like guilt in Virgil, but the feeling died a quick death under the weight of that terrible numbness. Faith appeared in his bedroom doorway, holding a steaming mug in her hand. "I, uh, thought you might like something hot." She crossed over to his bed and held out the mug with a smile as tentative as her voice had been. Virgil took the mug with neither gratitude nor censure, and set it aside…he was beyond feeling. Richie was dead. "Virgil…about last night—"

"Don't. I don't want to talk about it. You said it would take a miracle to save him. I couldn't take that kind of miracle. End of story." His voice was flat and even, no hint of emotion in it.

"Virgil—"

"Just tell me I did the right thing." Slight waver to his words, now. A quiver of something skipped across the numbness, causing the faintest of ripples in the unnatural calm. "Tell me I made the right choice."

Faith fell to her knees beside his bed, taking both his hands in hers. "You did, Virgil. You made the right choice. It was the hardest choice you'll ever have to make, but you did it. You did the right thing."

"Richie died last night." Strange, no matter how many times he said it, to himself or aloud, it didn't seem true. "I failed him."

"Virgil, no! No…you didn't. You were offered a chance to save the person you loved most, and you chose the lives of others. You put their fates and your responsibilities ahead of the one thing that mattered most to you. Do you have any idea how few people there are that can be that unselfish, Virgil? That…was the most heroic thing you have ever done."

"Faith, I feel like I killed him, myself!"

Faith smiled. She actually looked him in the eye and smiled. "No, Virgil. You didn't kill Richie…you saved him."

"W-what?"

"You're a hero, Virgil…any hero can lay down their life for another. You, though, you were willing to _live_, to go on and do the things you were meant to do even if it cost you the thing you loved most. That, Virgil, was exceptional." With that, she rose, gently disentangling her hands from his. "_Here we are as in olden days, happy golden days of yore. Friends who are dear to us gather near to us, once more. Through the years, we all will be together; if the Fates allow. Hang a shining star up on the highest bough! And have yourself a merry little Christmas Day_." Her voice rose in song again as she turned and sauntered back towards the kitchen. At the door, she turned and winked at him. "I started breakfast," she said brightly. "I'd get out of bed if I were you."

"Faith…what?"

"Let's just say Gideon and I need to have a little chat about what 'need-to-know basis' actually constitutes."

"Faith!"

She giggled. "Funny thing about miracles, Virgil…they always seem to happen when you need them the most."

With that, she vanished. A rush of warm wind swirled through the room and suddenly Virgil felt his stomach drop—as though he had just hit the top of a roller coaster and was now plunging over that first hill. His vision blurred as a wave of dizziness hit him, and it was all he could do to remain upright. The feeling passed quickly, though, and Virgil was left breathless.

Seconds later, a key rattled in the lock on the front door.

Virgil sat paralyzed on the bed. From this vantage point, he could see straight out into the living room to the front door. He watched the knob turn, unable to even breathe.

"JeSUS it's cold out there! Remind me again why we moved to New York? Yeesh…next time Mr. 'Crime doesn't take a holiday, and neither do we' wants the Watchtower's sensors recalibrated he can damn well do it himself! Greatest detective in the world, my ass. If he's such a great detective, why can't he ever find the instruction manual I left _specifically so someone could recalibrate the Watchtower sensors without having to call me_? Huh?"

Virgil was still dreaming. He had to be.

"Oooh, hey, waffles! I didn't even know we _had_ a waffle iron."

Virgil's fists clenched on the bedspread, clutching the material the way a drowning man would clutch a lifeline. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe; he could only stare at the figure standing beside his front door, slowly divesting itself of its heavy winter outerwear. A light dusting of snow clung to the figure's green overcoat, as well as the black stocking cap jammed over the head.

"Holy cow; there's enough here to feed an army! You weren't up all night watching the Food Network again, were you?"

At last the figure threw the last of the winter accessories on the table by the door, and turned towards the bedroom. Something that was half a sob, half a moan escaped Virgil's throat.

"R..Richie?" The man in front of him was a little taller, a little broader and more muscular, but the shock of blond hair was the same. The ready grin that was now playing across his lips was the same. The sparkle in those dark eyes was the same. Virgil was looking at Richie—at the man Richie should have been able to become.

"That's what is says on my driver's license. What did you do…cook all this and go back to bed?" The stranger bearing Richie's face walked into the bedroom as if he owned the place. He stripped out of the black sweatshirt he was wearing and tossed it more or less in the direction of the bathroom.

This wasn't possible. Richie was dead. Virgil had held his hand while he died. It was a dream.

"This isn't real." The words fell heavily from Virgil's lips. "You're dead."

"Huh?"

"You're…dead," Virgil repeated, pressing his hand to his forehead. He remembered Richie dying…remembered those last few moments in the hospital.

He also remembered teasing an irate Richie about having to go up to the Watchtower on Christmas Eve to mess with the sensors.

"V…you okay?" The man looked concerned. He moved quickly over to the bed and took Virgil's face in his hands. The gesture was so familiar…as if Virgil knew those hands as well as he knew his own.

He remembered that last horrible battle, and realizing the sacrifice Richie had made for him. He remembered the taste of blood in his mouth after he kissed Richie's lips. He remembered the blood soaking the ripped part of his shirt. He remembered holding Richie in his arms and having to refuse a chance to save his love from his Fate.

He remembered dodging a poorly aimed blast by that unknown bang baby, yelling at Richie to let fly with Big Bertha. He remembered the resulting explosion that had finally stunned the guy long enough for Virgil to lay into him with his powers. He remembered seeing the building begin to collapse and propelling Richie and the bang baby both away from the danger zone with his heart in his throat.

He remembered a hellish night in the emergency room, hearing that his friend would likely never regain consciousness.

He remembered a hellish night in the emergency room, getting chewed out by his partner for accidentally breaking one of Richie's ribs when he threw Richie away from the building.

"V? Virgil?" The man sounded scared now. "Talk to me, buddy. Shit…lie down. I'm gonna call an ambulance. Or do you want J'onn?" Hands tried to press him back down against the mattress, but he refused to go, instead reaching up to clutch at the man's shoulders.

"No! No…you're real?"

"Yeah, I'm real." The worry was growing by leaps and bounds in the man's eyes. "I'm right here, V, I promise I'm not going anywhere."

"Not dead," Virgil mumbled in wonder.

He remembered a decade of loneliness, of watching the love of his life slowly waste away before his eyes. He remembered a disastrous attempt to move on with Carol…a union that ended with more pain for both of them. He remembered joining the League alone, quickly proving himself, but always feeling that his partner should have been at his side.

He remembered a decade of commitment, of discovering new joys and new challenges with the love of his life. He remembered walking his dear friend Carol down the aisle at her wedding, and agreeing to be godfather to her first child. He remembered the day he and Richie were asked to become full fledged members of the League, their partnership quickly proving to be one of the most effective the League had ever seen.

He remembered long nights spent holding Richie's limp hand, wishing things could have been different.

He remembered long nights spent making love, wishing things could always stay this perfect.

"You're not dead." Virgil looked around the room in astonishment. There were pictures covering walls—their trip to Europe last summer, them at Sharon and Adam's wedding. Their graduation pictures and framed diplomas—Richie's from MIT and Virgil's from Harvard Law. Pictures of them at the beach; at friends' parties; decorating a huge Christmas tree. There were pictures of Sharon and Adam's children, and messy finger paints with 'To the Best Uncles Ever, Love Jamie' scrawled with a three-year-old's precision. There was a lifetime of memories on the wall and as Virgil looked at each picture, he found himself living the memory attached to it.

Those other memories faded away, the life he had lived before disappearing like a wisp of fog in the end.

"Virgil…no, I'm not dead. C'mon, talk to me…you're scaring me." At last, Virgil turned to face his lover. He'd rarely seen Richie look so worried

"A miracle," he breathed. "They gave me a miracle." With that he threw his arms around Richie and pulled him close, kissing him deeply. He sat back only when the need for oxygen became too pressing, and even then he refused to let go of the other man.

"Virg…what is it? What's wrong?" Virgil responded by tumbling back down onto the bed, bringing Richie down with him to lie on top of him.

"Nothing!" Virgil crowed happily. "Nothing's wrong. It was just a bad dream. Everything's perfect!"

"If you say so," Richie said doubtfully. He stretched into a more comfortable position, sprawled across Virgil's chest. Virgil knew that curious, calculating look. He also knew that if he didn't distract his lover quickly, Richie would worry at the problem until he had figured everything out, his brain refusing to let it lie.

Best of all, he found he knew the very best way to distract Richie from a puzzle.

They would just have to see if Faith's waffles tasted good when they were re-heated.

* * *

Faith waited until she was absolutely sure things would be all right (and judging by the sounds coming from the bedroom, things were going to be _more_ than all right very soon) before she left Virgil for the final time. She rematerialized in her favorite spot in New York—the crown of the Statue of Liberty—and took a moment to enjoy the sight of the sun rising over the harbor. At this moment, so full of joy for her young heroes, everything looked beautiful beyond words to her.

"That was very impressive work, my dear. Altering an entire decade in one night? I'm not sure I could have done that at your age." Gideon appeared beside her and joined her in her contemplation of the sunrise.

"Flattery will get you nowhere. I'm still not speaking to you."

"You just did." There was something like fond amusement in Gideon's voice. Faith snorted derisively. "Oh for pity's sake, I said I was sorry! The boy had to be tested…we can't just hand out miracles of that magnitude to just _anyone_."

Faith remained silent.

"Fine. I admit it, I should have told you beforehand. It was unconscionable of me to leave you in the dark, and I promise I'll never do it again."

She was still unmoved. Gideon sighed in exasperation. Children these days.

"You know, I _am _the one who insisted the case be reconsidered for miraculous intervention. You could give me a little credit for that."

She waited a little longer. At last, Gideon cracked.

"What do you want? An engraved apology read before the Heavenly Chorus?"

"Nothing so grand, though that is an interesting idea. I want you to admit that I was right about Virgil's worth all along and I finally knew something you didn't!" Faith said triumphantly. Gideon gaped at her for a few seconds before shutting his mouth with a fond smile.

"Very well, my dear. You were right about Mr. Hawkins. You knew better than me, and you were right all along. Faith, I have always thought you have an unusually keen eye for worth in others….and I couldn't be prouder of you. Satisfied?"

This time, Faith was simply speechless. She'd never known Gideon had that kind of faith in her. Then she grinned and threw her arms around her mentor's neck, smacking a sound kiss on his cheek. "Yes! Thank you, Gideon," she said. Gideon chuckled and hugged her back tightly.

Then, the older angel stepped back and disappeared, leaving Faith alone once more. She turned back to the sunrise and let her attention drift, following the whirls and eddies of Time itself. She focused on two particular lifelines, intertwined at a young age and inseparable now—bound by friendship and love and duty.

She smiled as she saw the lifetime her two heroes would share—there would be pain and ugliness sometimes, as there always was in life. More often, though, there would be love and beauty and light…years of happiness that she had known should have been theirs all along.

"Merry Christmas, Virgil," she murmured into the dawning day. "Welcome to your future."

* * *

Phew, wow…65 pages. That turned out to be a little longer than I thought it would be! Oh well, it was a great ride. Guess the only thing left to say is: Hahahaha! Gotcha! C'mon, you didn't really think I'd break up our heroes, did you? /Ducks a hail of rotten vegetables hurled from the audience./ Okay, okay, it was mean…but I fixed it! See, they get a happy ending! 


End file.
